I Will Love You As: A Violaf
by CarleyCavalier
Summary: Of course, Violet didn't know it yet, but the house was relatively safe. Besides a rickety bookshelf, a lecherous captor, mind tricks, peppermint, French food, anagrams, codependents, poems, secret visits, psychology books, poison darts, only one bed, a skylight, tea, secret letters, root beer floats, matches, guilt, and loving parents.
1. Act One, Part One: The Woeful Wedding

Act One, Part One: The Woeful Wedding

"I will Love you as Justice loves to sit by and watch as everything goes wrong,"

~Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

To be fair, the wedding was lovely. She was dressed in white, which was appropriate for a bride of only fifteen years. Her dark hair hung low in shiny, silky ringlets that curled around her shoulders and provided the cover her strapless dress didn't.

This was the kind of wedding that Violet knew she would adore when she was older, more grown-up, more able to take on the responsibilities of marriage. The stage, the outside setting, dark flowers and bright antiqued lights were perfect. The setting for such a wedding was absolutely perfect. There were only a few things Violet could wish differently which, actually, were very understandable things to want up to expectation.

For one, her infant sister, Sunny Baudelaire, was currently dangling from the very top of a lanky tower, distressed and cold. Violet hadn't put her sister there, she would never, but the infant was there because of her sister. That was one problem.

The other problem was the groom.

Count Olaf didn't have many people to insist that he was a great man. He was an arsonist, a murderer, a thief, and a hedonist most of all. Not exactly the man Violet Baudelaire had pictured herself being wedded to. He was attractive enough- when he actually bothered to bathe and scrape the plaque from his teeth. Other than a distinct lack of appropriate hygiene and morals, Olaf could have been considered a looker. He was tall with a lanky frame, sure square-tipped fingers and a smirk that could give anyone butterflies. Although, Violet had tasted both the butterflies of seeing someone who was not ugly and quite deserved her attention rather than the sharp, wicked butterflies of fear that Olaf caused her and her siblings. The man had dark hair, shiny eyes and a mysterious tattoo of an eye on his left ankle.

Olaf was the reason that Sunny was in her rusted birdcage, waiting to be dropped and clash lifeless, limp against the ground or hoisted to joyous safety. Violet hoped with all her heart it would be the latter.

This marriage wasn't about love. No, it was about blackmail, hedonistic focus and money. The Baudelaires: Violet, the eldest, Klaus, the middle child, and Sunny, the youngest, were orphans. Their parents perished in a fire that destroyed their entire home, leaving the three children with a very large inheritance and the even larger burden it bestowed upon their tiny, albeit capable, backs. The kids had been jostled around, even living at a banker's house with his dreadful family that gave them itchy clothes and had terrible mannerisms before Count Olaf had stepped in and snatched them up as quickly as a codependent could mumble the words, _"It's my fault; I'm sorry."_

He'd been a terrible guardian, forcing them to cook and clean and do, _"Every little nasty thing that pops into my head!"_

Eventually, Olaf realized that he couldn't swipe the Baudelaire fortune without either some kind of death or a marriage- and death was completely out of the question. He had too many death accusations held against him to add another to his weary stack. Most of which were true, a slim number were false, and an undecided number were completely undecided. He would most certainly lose guardianship, thus besetting any chance he had to get his filthy hands on all that cash. If death was out, that had left one thing…

"Oi," a man with hooks for hands, one in the Count's acting Troupe, stepped from behind a dusty red curtain and jostled Violet forward, closer to center stage. Another large curtain of intimidating velvet hid the couple from view of an audience of acquaintances. From where she stood, the girl could hear Olaf sing.

"_My darling Countess, your dark hair and warm eyes_

_Clothe my shame- see through the disguise_

_For I love you, dear thing, but listen to me-_

_Countess, my dear, you'll never be free."_

Violet shuddered through the thin fabric of her wedding dress, glancing from the curtain, to the hook-handed man and lastly to her brother. Klaus was pale, sickly; the corners of his mouth flushed an acrid color. Antiqued bulbs bobbed off the face of his glasses and threw the shine in his sister's eyes. Shadows from behind the stage, however, cast ruddy, slanting smudges, frumpling his person.

Before he could say anything, and her in return, Olaf's voice sounded again, smooth, too much like a lullaby.

"_The free bird sings sweetly, but so does the caged,_

_You best not fly, dear, or I can arrange_

_For my lovely Countess, her pet and it's slave_

_And for me alone my Countess shall crave."_

The words made Klaus and Violet wince, and if the third Baudeliare had been there, I'm sure she would've reacted accordingly. "You're on!" The hook-handed man shoved Violet forward and she stumbled, blinded suddenly by the bright stage lights- they were pointed at her from all directions. The illumination warmed the gooseflesh that cobbled our bride's arms. Olaf grinned at her, placing a hand on her hip and taking the other in his own, they danced.

"_Siblings may wither and fade to gray,_

_Your love, so pure, now frothing decay_

_But you and I, my blushing wife,_

_Shall remain faithful and loving most all of our life."_

Count Olaf dipped her, then, and whispered, "Smile, darling," in a sinister tone that made her skin crawl. Remembering her sister and her responsibility to protect her, Violet obeyed.

Two white-faced women stepped onto the stage and sang together wordlessly, like a wailing gypsy or a broken accordion. Violet caught Olaf's eye and he flicked his lashes at her, signifying her cue.

"_Likewise, my Count, serve you I shall forever_

_Dream of leaving you, I shall never_

_Now that we dance and now that we sing_

_Tell me you love me and present me a ring."_

The man grinned at his audience and chuckles disguised as rumbles came from them as the unanimous reply. Mr. Poe, the kids' banker, coughed. The ladies still sang in tune as Justice Strauss chimed out all the legalities, everyone gazing at the Count and his Countess-to-be.

"_And do you, Count Olaf, loving and true_

_Take this girl's hand, forever and through?"_

Violet grinned sweetly, slipping on her expert façade. At her look, the Count flushed in confusion although he quickly smothered it. _"I do,"_ he purred, ducking down to kiss Violet on the cheek. Somewhere, Mr. Poe sputtered.

"_Now you, Violet, shiny and new,_

_Do you love this Count, he loving you too?"_

The pair stepped up to a podium two men had dragged out, it was bedecked in wonderful purple flowers and ivy that snaked to the wooden floors of their stage. Our bride's heart palpated in fear, almost choking the breath from her delicate lungs. In a split moment she almost didn't know what to say, Klaus' words spinning in her head:_ 'you could just say 'I don't'._ Only when Olaf nudged her roughly did she remember. _"I do."_

Soon the Count had signed his name on their marriage document in handwriting as spindly as his fingers and as sloppy as his house which was very. "Your turn, dearest." Olaf growled, and set one of those spidery hands on her waist. Violet's left hand trembled as she took the quill and slowly, neatly, began to write her name.

Barely a dot of ink had marred the yellowing document before Olaf had noticed the girl's trickery. Quickly, breath hot against the girl's ear, the Count growled, guised in sugar, "Right hand please."

As quickly as it took Olaf to notice the girl's trickery, the eldest Baudelaire's heart sank just as fast, if not faster. Hers was more weighed down with unfortunate events that had taken place in the past years. In a brief, rogue thought, Violet wondered how Olaf had only mentioned his childhood once, merely stating that he liked raspberries very much when he was younger. Beneath that runaway thought, Violet contemplated if Count Olaf had faced monumental amounts of unfortunate things like her siblings and her. It was a very bittersweet thought.

Finally her signature was finished, as neat as her inventions and as smooth as her skin, which was very. Count Olaf turned to grip the girl's hands and she swayed and he turned.

The Count wasn't an actor for nothing. On stage he could be a bit melodramatic at times. The man remembered how in a brilliant play by the genius Al Funcoot, the hook-handed man had told Olaf, the main character of course, that his neighbor to which he had absolutely no relation, had moved away forever. He had responded with shrill curses and throwing plates around like a battered housewife. A few in his audience had been injured but that was unimportant.

When he had first adopted the children they had served as his slaves and his future income, seeing as he had no access to it yet. But those brats had made quick friends with Justice Strauss, his unfathomable neighbor. Thinking of the woman and her adorable house the Count shuddered. She was the reason his orphans had been stolen the first time; nothing but hollow emptiness replacing them, rings of dust settling in the rooms where they had slept. Justice Strauss had determined rather forcefully that Count Olaf was not guardian material one the Baudebrats had whined to her.

That had been the first time.

He ha followed the three to their Uncle Monty's and his rage and jealousy nearly incinerated the very air every time one of them even glanced at their adoring Uncle.

They loved him.

It had been unfathomable to the Count. Once 'Stephano' his foolproof disguise, had killed off Monty, the kids reacted unlike how he had planned. Olaf had prepared himself for screaming, wailing, sniffling, and anger.

Instead, Klaus' face went pale, his voice squeaky. He was the one filled with rage while the other two- devastation. Sunny preferred to keen, like an animal in mourning. Violet, her beautiful eyes- usually so alive, so full of ideas- fell flat. The youthful shimmer again extinguished and replaced with pure agony. When the young woman looked up to meet the eyes of her future husband, hate had wriggled into her countenance and stung him from her glare. That look had left the Count breathless, though he didn't show it. He had merely raised his eyebrow, mockingly innocent, while inside his guts were frothed with guilt. He hadn't felt guilt in years. But with one charged, agonized look from his future Countess, Olaf understood her hate and grief.

The look clearly said: _You're taking everything from me._

It was soon afterwards that Olaf decided to try again. His orphans were in the residence of their Aunt: Josephine Anwhistle. They had history, too. Her and that brother-in-law of hers could be quite the troublesome duo with their leeches and their fungi.

She had changed since he had last seen her. She was now a thin, boney woman whose sole purpose in life was grammar instead of the boisterous, headstrong thing she'd been before. He had snuck away to them disguised as a local- Captain Sham- and made sure the fretful, untouchable psychosis of their dearest Aunt was out of the way. He'd had to woo her. One more woman overcome by his sheer handsomeness- all the while, his Countess had watched with unwavering, careful eyes.

He didn't feel as guilty for murdering Josephine, for his orphans weren't as attached to her as they had been to their Uncle. Still, though, they felt her loss.

Suddenly free from the shackling façade of a dirty, crippled captain, Olaf had appeared and looked as if he had saved the three, assuring Mr. Poe that he was happy to help. Happy to help his damn guilt, that is.

And now, here he was. Yet again the guardian of the trio of orphans. His newest role, however, was a bit different…

Violet had slipped a silver band around the Count's ring finger, her thin ones trembling. The crowd would take the shivers as excitement and anticipation. Only the engaged knew it was fear.

When it came time for Violet's ring, he whipped it out- one of those crappy plastic things that cost a quarter- and put it on gently, playing the part of an adoring husband. The happy couple grinned falsely as Justice Strauss chimed,

"_Rings exchanged, all part of the plan_

_Signature, truthful, of wife and man_

_Now in each other, you've confide-_

_Permission given, Count, you may now kiss your bride."_

Violet paled further as Count Olaf swept her into his arms and tipped her, leaning dangerously close. The lights reflected little twinkles across her wide brown eyes- those eyes- entranced him. Centimeters away, the Count winked and smirked, flipping her back on to her feet before turning to the crowd, arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. "There is no need to continue this musical for what's needed is done. I'm off with my wife, now leave."

For a few seconds the crowd said nothing, trying to decide if the Count was serious or merely toying.

With an echo that rocked the whole stage, the lights went off, leaving the stage, the stadium, its people, in an abyss of inky dark. Sound erupted as everyone stood up. Above the footsteps, the voices, the clamor, Mr. Poe was coughing.

Again, Olaf's spidery hand found its way around Violet's hip, leading her through the darkness. Despite her husband's loathed closeness, Violet found Klaus and dragged him behind her. The three of them created a human chain.

Before she knew it, Violet was outside- the moon serving as a spotlight for the three of them. Once they reached it, Olaf threw Violet into the car, making her crawl over to the passenger's side while Klaus stayed with Sunny and the hook-handed man in the back. Since she didn't have a ribbon, Violet merely bundled her hair at the top of her head and leaned back.

"And 'ere are the newlyweds! Congrats, boss!" The man shook a hook in a cheer while one arm remained wrapped around Sunny where she sat on his lap. "Moog!" Sunny yelled and both Klaus and Violet knew she meant, "Really, there's no need for congratulations at all!" Olaf grinned proudly, baring his crooked teeth.

"Why thank you, Desmond. I see that monkey still hasn't learned to speak, you'd think being alone for so long she'd have the time to learn," He eyes Sunny maliciously in the mirror. Violet glanced at her husband, thinking his point ludicrous before stating, "Sunny's an infant."

From the back Desmond chimed, "Infant, monkey, same thing." Count Olaf nodded his agreement as they sped from the parking lot, jostling them all.

"Hey, boss," Desmond chimed from the back seat, his voice lugged a heavy note of mockery. "Why ain't you and your miss 'olding hands? That's what couples do, yeah?" Olaf glanced at his wife and reached across the car to grasp her hand like a possession jeopardized. Violet noticed awkwardly that his hand was warm, smooth. She wouldn't have thought of Count Olaf- murderer, accused arsonist- as the kind of person who would have nice hands. It was unnerving- she didn't want to find anything about the Count nice.

Desmond's confused expression shone upon the mirror.

Soon, Violet let her hair fall back across her shoulders. The girl figured that since she didn't know what was coming, she couldn't invent a way to avoid it. Soon, obviously unknown to him, Olaf began rubbing tiny circles into the palm of her hand. She couldn't decide if it was annoying, sickly, or calming. She wasn't leaning towards the latter.

The unfortunately familiar car bumped down their home road, Justice Strauss' house was empty and dark; the black front windows like eyes- blind to the children's woe just like its absent inhabitant.

Once they arrived at Count Olaf's the group meandered out of the car, Violet cradling Sunny as she slept. It was well deserved- she'd spent the last few days in a cage thirty feet off the ground. The infant had probably been too terrified, cold, or hungry to sleep properly. Klaus looked just as worn, dark circles hung like curtains under his eyes. When the five entered the dirty, empty home Count Olaf inhaled deeply and grinned in malice.

"Orphans, off to your room. There will be a post wedding celebration and I expect you to be silent as mimes. And do not worry your lonely little heads, there's no need to cook for us." His gray eyes shimmered as the three made their way up the filthy, peeling staircase. Suddenly, he turned, pointing a finger at the trio.

"No, not you, Countess. You stay. We cannot, in good mind, have a wedding celebration without our bride." Loathing spread thickly throughout Violet's gut as she slipped down the stairs to join Olaf and Desmond. If Sunny had been awake, Violet was sure she'd say, _"Agoop!"_ which would probably mean, "What kind of horrible people would want to celebrate this?"

Turning to her brother, the eldest Baudelaire whispered, "I'll join you later." He nodded and made his way up the stairs. Each footstep creaked loudly.

"Again, orphans," the groom grinned, "silent as mimes."

* * *

**This is the first fanfic that I've ever decided to publish, so please blame any errors on my lack of experience here!**

**I know some people may be upset that I decided to change Fernald's name to Desmond, but I just thought it suited him better. I'll try to make _almost_ everything else as canon as possible.**

**The beginning quote comes from Lemony Snicket's, _The Beatrice Letters_, which this whole fic shall be based off of. **

**Let me know what you think!**


	2. Act One, Part Two: The Baleful Bet

Act One, Part Two: The Baleful Bet

"I will Love you as misfortune loves orphans,"

~Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

To be unfair, the party wasn't lovely. Olaf's friends had arrived and trashed the already grungy house, spilling wine on the floor, making it sticky and throwing food teasingly at the Count and his newest prize. Many had toasted to her fortune and all it would contribute to, their voices gravely and excited. It caused a sick feeling to build in Violet's stomach like bile builds in one's throat.

No, this was completely unfair- something the Baudelaires had unfortunately become accustomed. Though, being accustomed and welcoming the unfairness were completely different. Olaf had gotten what he wanted, he'd gotten their fortune. So why did he insist on her having a part in this celebration? It was unfair.

The Troupe member who seemed neither a man nor a woman- newest to the Troupe- had insisted on Violet's wine. She'd had a sip but decided the red liquid foul and just pretended to sip for the remainder of the party, all the while wondering when their guests would leave.

Her _husband_, however, was having no such problem. He'd already consumed two cups himself and was now working on his third. Again, the feeling of bile rose to her gut as she watched him, completely repulsed.

Esme Squalor- the Count's girlfriend- was currently sitting on his lap, playing with his hair and whispering him things. Olaf only glanced at her- he seemed completely immersed in discussing some subject with a white-faced woman.

Suddenly, Desmond crouched in his chair and stood in it, looking down at the long table they were all seated at. With one large whack he smashed his wineglass against the table and stood taller. Glass skittered atop the tablecloth and crunched as it hit the hardwood floor. The table grew silent.

"I've got something I'd like to share for the Count an' his Countess," Esme snorted and rolled her eyes, but the rest remained speechless. Olaf flicked his fingers lazily, "Proceed."

The man put a hook to his chest and cleared his throat ungracefully.

"_Evil's triumphed, evil's won_

_Orphans they 'ave been undone_

_Righteous plan, clever and true_

'_Ave left the three with hopes too few."_

The Count grinned greedily and Esme giggled while the rest of the actors grumbled their due, some raising their wineglasses in a gesture to continue. Cold sweat beaded the brow of our bride as they all smirked, directly at her. Violet's heart fluttered in anxiety and Olaf's analogy of a caged bird snapped to her memory.

"_But one remains- the product of our plan_

_Wedded to our Count, a heartless greedy man_

_Now, she'll remain and siblings not_

_Love and hate- let's stir the pot."_

Olaf scowled slightly at Desmond's unexpected words. He was certainly heartless and greedy but Desmond didn't need to point it out so negatively.

"_Get a heart, we'll stick it in a jar_

_Countess mend the thing it's tear and scar_

_While her mourning wears thin- Ah!-_

_Quiet fool there's a tale to spin!"_

Desmond glared harshly at Esme, who halted her onslaught of whispers immediately. The man bared his teeth like a caged thing and used his right hook to reflect the dusty chandelier and throw the shine right in the face of the city's fifth most important financial advisor. Esme winced and glared but said nothing.

"_The Countess shall mend her Count's broken heart_

_Soon and never want to part-_

_If only, if only, again and again_

_Evil's triumph, evil's win._

_The tool with who our Count now plays,_

_Will leave, lament for better days_

_The Countess shall stay, take up her role_

_Clean her man now black as coal."_

Esme sputtered, enraged while the Count looked entertained by her reaction and confused by Violet's lack of. "What?" Esme snarled, "I would _never_-"

"_The Count confused, a wishwash captor,_

_Adores, deplores his Countess after_

_All she is a slave here-_

_Resisting the urge to call her 'my dear,' _

_The girl, in turn, struggles too_

_Weighed down by doubt and hates too few_

_Affection shall grow more pronounced_

_Until, the world, their love announced."_

Desmond took a bow, kicked glass bits off his seat and sat, grinning. His fellow Troupe members applauded while Violet sat silently and Esme glared. "Count, what're you going to do about this?" she roared into the ear she had previously been whispering, causing the Count to flinch. He rolled his eyes at her and drawled, "Desmond's a poet, and everyone knows that poets can't be stopped." The crowd snickered.

"He just said you would leave me for the orphan!" Esme fastened her glare at Violet who blinked back. The eldest Baudelaire imagined a slingshot she could fashion from her wine glass, her wedding corsage and a couple of forks. Olaf merely rolled his eyes.

"Esme, if you had even an ounce of theatrical blood- you should at least have some kind of intuition from being around such a handsome, talented actor-" Olaf waved at his person. "You should know that Desmond said that _you_ would leave _me_. Specifically, he said 'the tool who which our Count now plays will leave." Olaf nodded, mentally patting himself on the back for remembering.

"But I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't! What-" she snarled at Desmond and he met her glare with one of his own, "What a horrid poem! Poems are _so not in_!"

"I quite liked it," said the bald headed man, taking a spoonful of the soup he'd brought. It was more broth than anything. The rest of the Troupe muttered their agreement.

"Well, as did I. Desmond, you've permission to use the typewriter at the next convenient time to type up that poem." Desmond winced and looked down at his hooks; they glinted as if in reassurance. "Err…Thanks, boss."

Despite her situation, Violet felt a pang of pity shoot through her chest for Desmond and his lack of hands. Quickly, though, she smothered it. These feelings, she knew, were acidic to her hateful countenance. Pity for one of Olaf's henchmen was a no-go.

Soon, the night began to wind down. Violet had eaten her share of cake, soup and pastry-even slipping some into the folds of her dress to save for her siblings.

"I think it's time we left. The night is old and we're keeping the Count and his Countess from sleep," one of the white-faced women said, yawning, while the other one smirked, "Yes, let's leave them to consummate their marriage."

Olaf grinned wolfishly while Esme shrieked in outrage and disgust. At the woman's comment, Violet paled, feeling cold spit pool in her mouth. Throwing her hands out, the orphan shoved her way from the dinner table and bolted. She only got a few feet before she retched; bile slapping against a few of the bottom stairs. It hit the floor in chunks. Twice more Violet retched, adding more to the pile of sick. When she wiped her chin on her wrist and turned to face them, coughing, all eyes were on her.

It took a few seconds, but eventually everyone stood and quickly made their way out. Their footsteps were the loudest thing. If Violet had listened hard enough she could've heard the sounds of dresses and pant legs dragging the hardwood; dust sticking to the windows, unfiltered.

"Wow, you orphans really know how to clear a room!" When her husband returned he found his wife kneeling on the floor, eyes roaming, still coughing. Violet's legs shook as she stood. Again, the girl retched although no bile came. Olaf took his time pouring a glass of wine. He took a sip before handing it to Violet, her fingers groping the air and downing the small amount of wine once it reached them. The burn from the wine, though, was far worse than the burn from her upchuck and for that the girl was thankful. The eldest Baudelaire nodded her thanks to the man who waved his arms in nonchalance, eyes as shiny as when he was about to say 'inheritance.'

"Don't worry your pretty little head, orphan. I'm a lot of things but even I would never steal a child's innocence in such a way." Violet stepped away from the stairs to set her wine glass on the messy table. "Maybe not," she said, "but I do know you are a talented liar."

Count Olaf grinned at that, dropping the melodramatic flair. "Actors must be good liars," was all he said.

"Now. Tonight may very well be the last night you have with your dear siblings. You may sleep with them tonight, but seeing as we're married, from then on I expect you to share the other half of my bed." He raised an eyebrow when Violet exclaimed, "No!"

The villain chuckled darkly and raised his top lip in a tight feral smirk. "It's funny, _Violet_," he sneered her name, baring his teeth like Desmond had, "That you think you have a choice. You will share my bed, I don't care if you want to or not." He smiled as Violet flinched. "Why insist on playing the part this way?"

At her question, Olaf shrugged. "Call it sentimentality, call it cruelty, call it whatever you wish, dear thing," he spat the last two words mockingly. "But it will happen despite your best efforts. Your little monkey may end up missing a toe or two before she's shipped off."

"You wouldn't!" Olaf raised his eyebrow, smirking, accusing Violet to doubt her exclamation. She made the mistake of stepping closer to the staircase in attempt to somehow distance her sister from the Count and his malicious intent. The man took her shirk away as a backpedal of fear. Yes, he knew, he was an ideal captor. He was a perfect blend of hate, fear and affection.

"Now scurry on up to your orphans and slip into your role as Mommy. I'm sure they're quite tired of my Ultimate Husband façade. Go play house for just a bit longer."

As Violet scurried up the stairs to her siblings (carefully avoiding her drying puddle of sick) her only thoughts were on how much she loathed the man who stood below, sipping his wine and watching with a preditoral gaze as she treaded through his home.

When Violet finally made her way to their room, she saw the makeshift tent they'd built on their first night here. Sunny was still asleep, curled in her little ball of curtains right next to Klaus who had fallen asleep while polishing his glasses. She plucked them from her brother's hands and set them on the windowsill, shards of moonlight reflecting off the panes. Curling in between her siblings, Violet savored the proximity. With their parents' silhouette locket casting an ardent shadow down their makeshift tent, the three slept as peacefully as they could have within such unfortunate circumstances.

* * *

Violet awoke to the sounds of movement. Klaus' shoes clunked against the dirty floor and Sunny grumbled contentedly as she nibbled on Violet's corsage. When she sat up, the elastic headband she wore curled around her ear and Klaus glanced at her with relief. "Glad you're awake; I thought you might've been poisoned."

It seemed like Klaus couldn't decide if he was kidding or not so his sister merely brushed off his babble. "Did you sleep well?" Klaus shrugged.

"Fontone?" Sunny asked as Violet swept the girl into her arms and twirled, feeling her wedding dress slide across her calves. For only a split second, Violet reminded herself as a new Mom. At the comparison, she winced.

"Sunny's right," Klaus intoned, nodding to the door. "I smell breakfast, too. Let's see what we can find to eat." When Klaus' fingers were about two inches from the dented door handle, a familiar voice called, "Orphans! I've made you breakfast! Come and eat with your dearest brother-in-law!"

"Bah!" Sunny growled from her sister's arms. Violet and Klaus locked eyes for a second before they both grinned and cried, "Bah!"

"Watch out," Violet warned softly as they made their way down the staircase and Klaus almost stepped on her crunchy pile of dried sick. She was glad that her brother only looked disgusted and didn't feel it his duty to ask whose it had been.

As the three entered the kitchen they saw Olaf, sitting lankily with his feet on the table. Despite the one the Count held there were three steaming bowls of oatmeal, each topped with a few raspberries and powdered sugar. Sunny's stomach growled audibly. Hearing the young orphan's bodily noise, the newlywed man stood and turned to face the three.

"I made breakfast, enjoy it." He made the last two words sound like a threat. "And don't worry about poison, I've checked- we're all out of arsenic. I had to kill the rats in my Tower," Olaf grabbed Violet by the shoulders, the physical contact making her flinch. His hands were warm against her bare shoulders. He sat her down at the table and Klaus followed closely behind, taking Sunny and setting her on the chair in between them. Carefully, the three began to eat.

Just as he was leaving and the orphans were relaxing, Olaf turned to look at his disheveled wife. "Countess, you can't wear that dress forever. I know that being married to me is so unbelievably great but please change clothes. You need to move on!" With that the actor launched into a fit of melodramatic crocodile tears.

"I'm just so touched! To think that you're this excited to be my Countess- it's just too good to be true! Oh, Violet," the Count stopped leaning against the giant doorframe, pretending to sob and merely looked her over with disgust. "You're looking frumpy. Change your clothes."

With a flourish of his hand towards the stairs, Olaf flicked his eyelashes at her. The girl shook her head at him, remembering her headband that had wrapped itself around her ear only when it fell into her lap. Finishing her spoonful of oatmeal, the eldest Baudelaire said, "I can't. The white-faced women took my dress after I changed into this." She waved at her person. Olaf merely raised a side of his eyebrow.

"Well, lucky for you I've recently come into a very large sum of money. Did you know that you also legally inherited your previous guardian's fortunes as well? Maybe if you're a good Countess I'll have someone take you shopping." Olaf winked and three oatmeal-filled stomachs dropped. He turned to the door then just as quickly back to the orphans. Sunny had a spoon halfway to her mouth, Violet was flushed in fury and Klaus was gaping. Olaf pointed at the monkey and the bookworm.

"The two of you will spend the day cleaning. I require chopped firewood, all the rats cleaned from my Tower, dinner for tonight- make whatever you want- the bile cleaned from the staircase, and the entryway swept. Don't even think about trying to help, Countess or else dinner will be my choosing and we will serve monkey!" He all but hissed at Sunny. Violet ignored his theatrics and for a final time he turned and exited the house, slamming the door with a bang that shook the floorboards.

Everything was silent for a few seconds before the siblings all exhaled in unison. "Well," Klaus stood and took his empty bowl to the overflowing sink. "Toady may be our last day with each other for a while so I propose that we get our work done quickly and spend the day at Justice Strauss' next door."

Cleaning wasn't hard. It was something the Baudelaires least the elder two- had become accustomed over the years. The two had recognized it as a regular part of having things to appreciate- you took care of them. But cleaning Count Olaf's was entirely different than what they were used to! This was like blowing onto glass- a thin veil of fog would temporarily mark the barest surface before it was again smothered by the remaining glass. So it was with their newest home- they'd clean enough to have a small circle of clean before it was again occluded by dirt, filth, and grime.

To save time, the three set tasks individually. Klaus went to chop firewood, saving time by using an invention Violet had conjured up from an old bicycle, a tire, and yards of string, a sharp gutter and some cooking grease. Sunny was up in the Tower, presumably crawling her was past cobwebs, prop boxes, and typewriter ink to and collect all of the rat corpses. Their elder sister was currently at the foot of one of the staircases that lead to the kitchen, armed with only a spatula and a plate.

Now, if you've ever had a pet- namely, a cat- then you or someone whose company you just happen to be in, have had to clean their insistent upchuck. There are many ways it could be done. You could clean the mass like a normally functioning person, or you could use some kind of strange method because you don't have the proper supplies or using the proper supplies didn't occur to you in the first place.

Violet's situation was not the latter. Because Olaf's house was so dirty, then he obviously didn't care and because he didn't care, he had no cleaning supplies. The girl was making the best out of her lack and chipping her sick off the stairs. It came off like it had gone on- in chunks.

When it had all been scraped off the stairs and onto the grungy plate, Violet wrenched open the sliding back door- with much difficulty, the dust made it stick- and flung everything into the yard. It fit in quite nicely with the rat bodies Sunny was flinging out the window. Klaus had almost all of the firewood chopped, so Violet rooted through the kitchen drawers to find something worth cooking. They still had a few handfuls of noodles from the Putenesca Fiasco so she picked them out and set the dusty things atop the counter.

"Sunny," she lifted the infant from where she appeared at Violet's feet, her horrendous task finished. "Please wash your hands and then rinse these off."

She set the noodles next to her tiny sister who sat next to the sink. "Visu!" Sunny laughed as the water sputtered through the weary pipes, turned hot, and erased the dust from her palms. Once Violet had selected a few pans, she rinsed them off and, turning the stove on, began to boil the water.

I'm not sure if you've ever noticed this or not- you might not have because someone else cooks all your meals, like a mother or a butler or a captor- but cooking a good meal with people you love is a perfect way to spend the afternoon; whereas scraping up puke and sniffing around for dead rats is not. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny, however, did know this and as their brother came into the house they had to grin at him.

Disheveled and sweaty, Klaus Baudelaire brushed his arms across the table and grinned easily back at his sisters. "Look what I've found." He separated his findings into five piles.

"Here," he pointed to a bunch of gray caps, "these mushrooms are edible. I've also found cilantro, chives, and sunflower seeds, as well as this edible moss." He pointed to a silky lump of green.

Violet grinned at her brother, "It's perfect but I'm not sure if we'll use them all." Klaus shrugged and went to stand next to Sunny and rinse out a pan and fill it with water. Violet set the pot gently next to the other and turned on the flame.

"Count Olaf left money folded up under your bowl, Klaus. Could you run down to the supermarket and pick up a few things?" Surprised, the twelve-year-old nodded. "Of course."

After Klaus left with a brief goodbye, Violet's scribbled list folded in his hand, the two Baudelaire women set to work. The eldest stirred the noodles and looked around for something to use as a strainer while Sunny worked on shredding all the spices with her four sharp teeth.

Sunlight shone brightly through the grimy windows, casting spotty fingerprints everywhere. The hardwood had a luminous glow and dust twirled in the air, thrilled to be active again. Because of the moss and mud that had grown on the panes, Sunny had their spotty shine cast down the side of her face. The infant grinned at her sister.

Soon, Klaus had arrived and set down his grocery bag with a huff. His countenance reflected fear and worry just as water will reflect telephones right before they hit the surface and sink to the grimy bottom of- in a certain case it had been a lake- whatever body of water one chooses to throw a turncoat organization's telephones; like puddles of cups of tea.

Seeing their brother's distressed, telephone-like appearance, the two females stopped. Before Sunny could incline, "Chagiba?" which would probably mean something like, "Klaus, why are you so absolutely distressed that you resemble a telephone?" the boy interrupted.

"Do we know a man," he huffed, "with a top hat and a liking of bats?" As an afterthought he added, "And perhaps us?"

Violet scowled in concentration. "Bats? I don't think so. Mother said something about liking bats when she was younger but that's all I've heard of them." Sunny mumbled in agreement.

"Well, there was a man following me the whole time I was gathering groceries. He had a top hat, a scarf, a book about bats and a paper bag in his left hand."

"I can't remember anyone like that. Do you think it might've been the one that looks neither like a man nor a woman?" Violet asked and Sunny interjected, "Pice!" which meant, "Maybe the very large one that pretended to run sailboats when we were with Aunt Josephine?"

Klaus shook his head negatively. "No, I know both of their faces and it wasn't them. And this man wasn't nearly as big as the one with the sailboats. I guess we'll just have to be careful." The two Baudelaire women nodded, still a bit distracted, before resuming cooking. Klaus had brought bread, cheese, and the meat they needed.

The bread became toasted, the meat cooked well, and the noodles perfect. In between then, Violet taught Sunny how to throw a noodle on the wooden cabinets to see if it was fully cooked or not. "Here," Violet handed Klaus a sandwich, "Try it."

He eyed it speculatively under his glasses. "A noodle, beef and cheese sandwich?"

Soon, the three were happily munching on their dinner, grinning and giggling as they threw leftover noodles at each other. One stuck around the rim of Klaus' glasses and Sunny enjoyed threading the stringy food through her teeth.

The three orphans laughed and danced and ate well into the evening. Klaus brought in armfuls of freshly cut firewood, smelling of sticky oak and pine. He lit a fire in the regal fireplace while his sisters rolled around on the floor and pretended to wrestle. Sunny squealed as Violet blew raspberries onto her stomach, causing all three to grin.

The night was a happy one full of joy. They were together and they were alive. Violet reveled in her sibling's closeness; noticing the way Klaus' eyes crinkled as he grinned and how she wanted to keep a list of all the different notes Sunny's laugh could hit. Her siblings took her breath away. She missed them already.

With a sound as welcome as blow horns and as unwelcome as a murder of crows, the front doorbell rang, startling the orphans out of their happy alcove. Klaus scooped up Sunny and the three of them made their way to the front door.

Peeking through the windows, the children could see a long shadow slithering down the front steps but nothing else. Clicks bounded from the doorknob as Klaus turned it. Upon opening the door, a grinning face greeted the three and they gasped in return. "Hello, dears." Justice Strauss smiled.

"Justice Strauss!" Violet gasped, "What are you doing here?" The woman smiled again and handed Violet a little basket. Once opened, it revealed a loaf of fresh pumpkin bread wrapped in a black and red checkered cloth. Sunny clapped in delight, she couldn't wait to chew on the basket.

"I just wanted to make you a little something for doing such a fantastic job in The Marvelous Marriage- the ending was quite memorable. I couldn't even tell you were acting!"

The three siblings shook their head in unison. "No, Justice, you don't understand-"

"Oh, and please be sure to give some to the Count, he did such a marvelous job as well. I _do_ hope I've made enough," She looked fretfully at the basket.

"But-" The three children started, but a tall, lanky shadow leaned against the outside doorway, stopping them cold.

"_Hello, hello, hellooooo,"_ Count Olaf drawled, causing the Justice to yelp in surprise and turn to face him.

"Count Olaf!" she sputtered, "You surprised me!"

"Yes," he purred, "I tend to have that effect on people, being as handsome and talented as I am." The Justice only blinked at that. "I just came by to congratulate Violet and yourself on such a brilliant show- dear me! Violet's so happy she hasn't even changed out of her dress yet!"

The girl flushed in anger and embarrassment at how wrong the Justice was. Count Olaf nodded jeeringly, "Yes, it seems she adores the thought of being married to me, I mean who wouldn't? Look, she still has on my ring!" The Justice grinned at her conspiratorially, like an Aunt just discovering her niece's first crush while her husband's shiny eyes teased her relentlessly.

"Yes," Violet agreed, frowning. "But so are you."

The five people all looked down to notice the gold band, still around the Count's finger snugly; as if it actually belonged there.

He only shrugged, "Call it sentimentality, call it cruelty, call it whatever you wish, dear thing." He looked Violet right in the eyes and saw remembrance of their previous conversation bloom in them. "But I did keep wearing the ring only because I'm afraid I might lose it. You see, Justice, I'm having a few renovations done to my humble home. Maybe one day it will look as stunning as yours, but for now, I'm simply in the packing process. We'll be staying with acquaintances for a few weeks while they're happening."

"Oh yes?" Justice Strauss chimed. "Well, good for you, Count. It's nice to see that the children will actually have a respectable place to live." The Count smiled menacingly down at the woman but she was too busy trying to peer past the children to get a look inside. Recognizing the malice, Violet grabbed her husband's hand and tugged him inside the decrepit home. "Sorry, Justice, time for dinner!"

With a slam, the front door closed, leaving the woman alone outside but safe. Klaus and Sunny retreated to the kitchen while Violet stood with the Count, trying to decide if she should retreat as well. The Count glanced at her hands, still around one of his, and then to her face.

"That woman's despicable." He scowled, eyebrow furrowing. Violet held the basket a bit higher. "Yes," she said, "because despicable women make great pumpkin bread." Olaf grinned, half in annoyance and half in amusement. "Well, I once knew a kidnapper who could make great enchiladas. " With that, he handed her a crystalline bag he'd had at his side.

"Here. You look more hideous than usual in that wedding dress and I need you to look less like an orphan and more like a Countess." With that, he swung around her and into the parlor that lead to the kitchen calling, "Try it on!"

Once the eldest Baudelaire was upstairs she took a deep breath, tried on the dress, and woefully decided it perfect. It sickened her, though, that her husband could choose such an apropos dress. Violet would've bet money she didn't have that he had bought the thing in hopes that she'd loathe it.

The dress itself was a cream color with sleeves that stopped and folded into red cuffs right above her elbows. The bodice was trimmed with red lacey fabric as was the hem at the bottom that fell just above her knees. She loved it for mainly two reasons.

One: the sleeves were the perfect length were inventing. Before now, the wrists of her outfit would become grubby, especially when working with motor oil to fuel a hot air balloon, or with ink to write a pseudonym, or with bubbles to make her sister giggle.

Two: The bottom hem was shorter so it was easier to run. She'd been in situations- most involve running from her _beloved_ downstairs- where her dress hem would slow her down. The hem had gone to the tops of her ankles, so when she bent her knees to run, she couldn't stretch her legs fully- restricted.

When Violet went to pick the paper bag off the floor, she was startled to see a stream of fabric slither through the air and curl onto the floor. Bending down- successfully, thanks to her new dress- Violet realized that it was a hair ribbon. Disgusted, she flung the thing back where it came, suddenly terrified to be alone.

The ribbon she wore now was fraying at the edges and stained from sweat and Lachrymose Lake water. She didn't need a new hair ribbon, not from a murderer, an arsonist, her captor. Violet didn't need anything from Count Olaf.

The eldest Baudelaire turned and bolted into the hallway, fingering her grandmother's mother's ribbon all the way. "Klaus!" she gasped as she collided with him head on.

Violet shook her head as her brother's figure grew taller, his mouth drew into a smirk, and completely different eyes stared her down.

"Sorry, dear thing," A spidery hand found hers and took it for possession, "Not quite."

* * *

**Hopefully, this chapter will look better than the last. Oh, if random poems aren't your thing, sorry about that. I just think they add to the story, but they won't be in every Act despite my best efforts. **

**Chapters are called Acts because I wanted to play off of Count Olaf's theatre obsession- this will never be written as a play. I thought it would be more fun this way. (smile)**

**Also, I'm trying to preserve both of the way Count Olaf is portrayed. One, through Mr. Snicket's work as the completely hedonistic villian. Two: by at least making him seem more human like Jim Carrey did in the ASoUE film. **

**All credit goes to the lovely, wonderful, megaperfect, Mr. Lemony Snicket and his representative, Mr. Handler. This is in no way associated with Mr. Helquist and definitely not any of the publishers like HarperCollins.**

**Let me know what you think!**

**Let me know what you think!**


	3. Act One, Part Three: Home Is Where

Act One, Part Three: Home is Where the Heartless Is

"I will Love you as a crow loves a murder,"

~Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

Count Olaf smirked down at the youth. "Dear me, Countess, running like a maniac downstairs to show me your dress…" He took the hand he'd snatched previously and tried to twirl her but she stood where she was. When the man realized her lack of movement was personal, he dropped her hand and glared sadistically, eyes bright in the dark hallway.

"I've a deal to make with you, cretin. If you don't cooperate with me I'll send the primate to live in a glue factory and the bookworm handcuffed at the bottom of the sea. Understood?" She said nothing and he started to laugh in astonishment, eyebrow raised. "You are testing my patience- Do you understand?"

She nodded shakily realizing with threateningly, cold clarity that uncooperation would get her nowhere and only present her siblings with death and the hard, boney masque it wore. Uncooperation to the Count would be like Violet firing the bullets that would kill them both, but only at an unrecognizable distance. The two would fall lifeless and they would fall at her hand.

"Yes," she sputtered, "I understand." The Count grinned smugly and patted her head. "Good Countess, good sister. Now, twirl."

He raised her hand again so she could follow directions, all the while avoiding looking at him, glaring at everything else. "It better fit well because I'm not buying you another one." Violet nodded once and looked down at her new gift. She wondered if reporting that she liked it would cause him to take it back and buy an ugly one.

"It fits well- better than my old one." He nodded, following the dress with his eyes. "I bought you the thing because we'll be leaving tomorrow after your siblings. Which reminds me: You are to pretend that we are hopelessly in love when we're around my _acquaintances_. When we're not around them, you can go back to loathing me with every fiber of your little orphan body whilst I'll be busy with my nefarious schemes and plots. Sound fair?"

Recognizing the negative answer before it came; Olaf nonchalantly slipped his knife from his pocket and raised his eyebrow at her. It was as effective as any verbal threat.

Violet shut her mouth quickly, recognizing the blade as the one Olaf had used for his Stephano façade when the three orphans had still lived with Uncle Monty.

"Trust me, dear thing," He ran both of his hands down Violet's sides and rested them on her hips, causing the girl to shudder in disgust and at the unfamiliar touch. Olaf grinned, "I could be _much worse_ a captor. I could kill a few pedestrians, bind you tightly, and throw the lot of you in my empty Tower." The girl's brown eyes shifted then flickered, and Olaf could almost see the gears whirring to life in her head.

"Of course, I'd have to cut off your fingers first. I wouldn't need your inventing skills." They both eyed the knife the man still held nimbly. The gears behind Violet's eyes slowed down and stopped, pausing for now.

"I don't like to hurt you, no, I'm far too good a person to harm a girl such as yourself but that fortune of yours far outweighs any pity for you I've developed." Her husband sighed wearily, and rubbed his head with a set of boney knuckles.

He said quietly, "You may have one more night with your siblings and they'll be safe as long as you're compliant. They'll leave together tomorrow morning and soon afterwards, we'll be off." Olaf's shoulders sagged wearily.

"Klaus and Sunny, where will they go? They'll stay together permanently?" Violet's voice only wavered just the slightest although the man detected the slight tremble. "They'll be safe and well-educated."

Somehow, the smirk that followed made her doubt him; like he was in on an inside joke that only he himself understood. Her heart quickly sank. If fear had a weight it would be the heaviest.

"I'm off to eat dinner then die alone in my bed." His twisted humor completed, the Count turned and stomped down his dusty staircase, screeching, "Orphans, go upstairs! I am to dine _alone_!"

Klaus and Sunny quickly scurried upstairs and joined their sister while the Count bustled around downstairs, fixing himself food. As the three stumbled into their depressing room, Klaus and Sunny acutely noticed their sister's new dress. Her brother was usually a calm person because that's how they'd been raised but when he saw Violet's new dress, red spots appeared on his cheeks and an angry scowl cracked free. Sunny, wide-eyed, was the first to speak. "Dress."

Violet brushed her hands across the fabric, feeling it slide gently over her lap. She felt guilt's sting and winced. "It was a gift," she tried, "At least I don't have to wear that woeful wedding dress." Klaus twitched at the word 'wedding.'

"Violet, he can't do this! He can't just force you to marry him then expect you to act as if it was voluntary! That's evil-" Klaus sneered and rolled his eyes mockingly, the expression a new one to add to his library of countenances. "Of course he's evil; he's Count Olaf- your _husband_." Klaus hissed the last word and Sunny gasped at her brother's hateful expression.

"Klaus, I'm doing this for you. If I don't follow his rules my _husband_ gives, you'll be separated as well." She nodded to the both of them. Violet scowled and said, "For right now, you're fine- Olaf said you'll be safe and well educated. I'm going to listen to him for the time being until I come of age."

"Well educated? What does that even mean? We're already plenty educated- enough to elude him for so long! Violet," the anger evaporated from the youth's voice when he said his sister's name. "We need you."

"I know," she said, reaching out to wind her arms around her siblings the way an anagram winds a word into a knot as intricate as the Devil's Tongue. "But you'll have Sunny and she'll have you and when I'm eighteen I'll come find you both. Then we'll all have each other.

Klaus nodded wearily at that and with an innumerable amount of chimes from the grandfather clock downstairs, the Baudelaire's huddled together tightly on the dusty floor.

* * *

"Countess," a familiar voice purred, jolting Violet from her sleep, but only slightly. Exhausted, both emotionally and physically from her endeavors to secure a safe place for her siblings, she'd slept soundly, barely moving. Her anxiety was omnipresent in her dreams, casting strange, shapeless images behind her eyelids. "Dear thing, wake up for your day of woe begins now."

Again, the girl grumbled slightly but otherwise remained still. Count Olaf scowled and glanced around the dirty room. Dusty footprints of her siblings were still left behind, pressed into the hardwood. He resisted the urge to smear them. He was the only one who should matter to her now; she didn't need to remember the two, even by their tracks.

"Violet Baudelaire," Olaf ran a set of fingers down her arm and whispered, very close to her ear, "If you don't wake up right this very moment, I'll kiss the very breath from your lungs- leave you gasping like I should've at our wedding."

He expected his declaration to scare his wife awake but no such luck. She didn't move. Well, he'd warned her. It wasn't his fault if she got angry. Gingerly, with the utmost care, he brushed his lips over her unresponsive ones, feeling the small catch and tug as he went back and forth. Suddenly, with a cry of rage and astonishment, the Count wrenched himself from her mouth and stood, a set of fingers rising to his own. He was both disgusted in himself- not for attacking a woman in her sleep, no, but for actually feeling guilty about it!- and enraged. Shouldn't she want to kiss him? He was her husband! She was obliged to love him!

The girl awoke at her husband's yelp and almost headbutt him she'd jumped up so fast. The girl's shoulders were heaving- one hand clutching that ratty ribbon of hers like a weapon and the other curled just under her neck, feeling the flutter of her freaked out heart.

"You scared me!" she gasped, and gaped at him before she remembered who she was yelling at and sliced out her informal tone. Count Olaf noticed Violet's shifting expression as she glanced around; terror for her siblings replacing her previous surprise.

She was almost too afraid of the answer to ask, "Where's Klaus and Sunny?" She used their names like they were one entity.

He locked eyed with the girl as if testing her, asking, _"Are you sure you want to know?"_ At his unspoken question, the girl nodded. He shrugged, _"If you're sure…"_

"They're gone. I sent them off. They left you a letter, but if you want it you'll need to behave. Remember, we move today." It took Violet a second to finally grasp that her siblings were gone. Yes, for years and years and years on end with only a villain and his accomplices for company. She fought hard not to cry. Not in front of Olaf. The girl bit her lip and nodded.

"Where will we go?" Olaf grinned at that and picked her wedding dress off the floor, smearing more dust. "Hours and hours away." He said. "A place called Beset Boulevard." He smirked as if the name meant something. Violet wished her brother was there to explain.

"A handful from my Troupe shall accompany us there, although they won't be staying as we will." Violet nodded; her heart heavy.

Before she knew it, Violet was bumping around with strange companions along even stranger named roads. Lousy Lane, Dreadful Drive, Terrible Turn, Ransom Road, Sinister Street, Corrupt Court, all of them dreadful. She had been assigned the pleasure of sitting up front with Olaf while Desmond and one of the white-faced women sat in the back.

The woman glared at Violet ever time their eyes met in one of the rearview mirrors. She'd glance from Violet's hand where Count Olaf held it tightly, to the Count himself, and ending it with a nice little hateful glare at her.

All the unfamiliar circumstances were overwhelming the girl; little tremors of anxiety making her fingertips tremble. Without any kind of forewarning, Olaf began rubbing circles into her palm; the joints between her fingers; playing with her wedding ring. As much as she loathed admitting it, even to herself, it was relaxing. Her tremors slowed and eventually stopped. Begrudgingly, Violet squeezed his hand a bit in thanks. He didn't respond. She didn't want him to.

No one spoke for the car ride, choosing instead to listen to the gravel under their car tires; the wind as it rushed in every outside crevice and whistled through the bullet holes in the trunk.

"Ah," Count Olaf grinned wickedly. "Here we are. 1455 Beset Boulevard." As the car bumped up a cobblestone driveway, Violet had to resist the instinct to ask, _"What does' beset' mean?"_ Reminded of her brother, Violet was silent, her mood dampened evermore. When the car stopped, the girl glanced out the window and felt her eyebrows rise. The house was magnificent.

It was a gray color with dark shutters, white trimming and ivy smothering most of it. Three stories tall, the thing seemed welcoming, safe even. She shrugged off the comparison for now because the eldest Baudelaire had learned over the years that every garden soon reveals a serpent.

Of course, Violet didn't know it yet, but the house was relatively safe. Besides a rickety bookshelf, a lecherous captor, mind tricks, peppermint, French food, anagrams, codependents, poems, secret visits, psychology books, poison darts, only one bed, a skylight, tea, secret letters, root beer floats, matches, guilt, and loving parents.

"Now, Countess, get my bag from the trunk and hand it off to Desmond. He'll bring it inside while poopface back there carries the rest." The Count cackled and the white-faced woman blushed under her make up even though the insult was entirely apropos. Violet and the Count's henchpeople stumbled to do their jobs whilst Olaf took turns whipping his sun glasses on and off dramatically as he extracted himself from his vehicle.

The girl walked towards her husband as he waved her over. His eyes were shining; mischievous and cunning. She could see her own steadfast glance reflected in them. "You are to pretend we are hopelessly in love when we are around these people. If you want the letter your siblings left you, you'll be sure to follow my lead, yes?" He raised his eyebrow at her, and she nodded, steeling her emotions. Violet's stomach quivered. How did one _pretend_ to be in love?

"Good Countess," he mumbled, grasping her hand and leading her to the front door where the henchpeople where waiting. "Good sister,"

As they stepped up on to a long concrete step, Olaf whispered, "Home is where the heartless is," before opening the door and sweeping Violet inside. She caught sight of a grand wooden staircase, hardwood floors, and a tiny chandelier before Count Olaf lead her to the left too quickly to see much of anything else. From somewhere unrecognizable she heard two new voices.

"_-Loveless and whimsical and trustworthy and perfect._

_Fearless, but not with ages his own_

_For adults, our scribe, had most outgrown."_

A woman's voice sounded and Violet realized that they'd walked in on a poetry recital.

"_But one girl, clever, young, bold,_

_The one that Dodgson's tale was told_

_Had pledged her heart romantically_

_Carroll loved her endlessly."_

A man's gravelly voice chimed as Violet was swept up a narrow set of stairs. Her hip bumped against Olaf's in the dark stairwell. He was so close she could smell his breath- it was sweet, like the wine they'd had a few nights ago.

"_He loved her secretly and kind_

_For less chance snooping parents find,_

_Their daughter, Alice, loved and pure_

_To their love they did demur."_

Once they got to the top of the narrow stairs, Olaf wrenched open a door and the four filed inside. The room, like its former stairwell, was almost completely dark. The only things inside were a few rows of plush theatre seats and a highlighted stage. Olaf grabbed Violet's hand gently and set her down in a seat, completely surprising the girl before she remembered their promise. She needed that letter.

Looking forward, she noticed two figures standing atop a raised platform. They were obviously opposite genders though their blank faceless masks were identical. Two spot lights cast their shadows crookedly behind them and up the wrinkles of a red velvet curtain even further behind the pair.

The curtain reminded Violet of the one at her wedding. Olaf sat next to her and took her hand. His warmed her chilled fingers.

"_But Carroll's dreamchild grew noble and wise,_

_Refusing the fantasy her tale implies._

_Rejecting her childhood friend along, too_

_Yet Dodgson loved her forever and through._

_Heartbroken, he mourned, grew old grew sick_

_His love for Alice still just as quick_

_The scribe, Lewis Carroll, died heartless alone_

_Alice Liddell perished with two hearts, unknown._

_His love remained though hers faded gray_

_Throughout her life- a failed portray_

_So learn, dear thing, learn from their woe_

_For Love is something you should know."_

With that, the two figures ended their poem, took a bow, and leapt nimbly down to Violet and her companions.

"It's good to see you, Violet Baudelaire." Said the woman, and the girl wished she could reciprocate the good feelings, although the woman's face remained masked. "We're excited to have you here," agreed the mysterious man as Olaf stood, wrapping an arm around Violet's waist. She almost flinched.

_"Hello, hello, hellooooo,"_ Count Olaf drawled and the two figures took off their masks with grins of excitement. The woman had fair, blonde hair with wide eyes and a smooth, calm face. She was beautiful in an obvious, flaunting way. The man resembled Olaf with his angular face and lanky figure only his eyes were much kinder. It gave Violet an idea of what her husband would look like if he were happy.

The woman stepped even closer and grasped her daughter-in-law's hand avidly. "Again, Violet, we're very happy you'll be staying here until your renovations are done. My name is Sali L. Thammock, and I'm the city's fifth most important financial advisor." She grinned, like an aforementioned pseudonym's smirking cat. "But you can just call me Sali,"

Violet nodded and opened her mouth the cordially state, _"Nice to meet you,"_ but before she could speak, the man grasped her other hand and smiled warmly. "Violet, my name is Sir Loid Rolp Thammock, but you may call me Loid. It's very nice to meet you. I hope we'll get along."

Violet smiled and nodded, noticing how all three members of Olaf's family had a hand on her. What she missed, though, was the unintentional symbolism. Had she noticed, Violet would've invented a lock pick like the one she'd fashioned at Uncle Monty's, snuck away in the middle of the night, and fled from this dysfunctional family, but Violet didn't notice the symbolism, so she couldn't invent a way to escape it.

"It's very nice to meet you both; thank you for your hospitality." The moment she was done speaking, her husband resumed. "So was it planned for you to recite my favorite part of my favorite poem just as we arrived?"

The two adoptive parents grinned in unison. "Maybe. We thought that being introduced in your childhood theatre would be fun, yes?" Sali asked. Violet could tell that Olaf wanted to spit on the word: _Fun?_

"This was your theatre? And that was your favorite poem?" Violet asked, pretending to play the part of an interested wife. Olaf smiled down at the eldest Baudelaire, the act itself almost a grimace. It seemed he was having a hard time slipping into the loving husband façade.

"Yes and yes. I came up here often as a child to create my own plays. But actors with my talent were limited at that age- as they still are- so I only had myself and a handful of puppets. It grew boring without people. And that poem is my favorite- I especially adore the part where Lewis Carroll dies heartbroken and alone." He nodded while Violet mumbled, "I've always found Lewis Carroll a bit too whimsical for my taste…"

An awkward silence spread over the tiny home theatre as Desmond coughed against one of his hooks in the latter part of the room. "So, Violet," Sali beamed, grabbing the bags from Desmond and handing them to Loid. "What would you like for dinner? We have both turkey and roast beef. Which do you like best?"

Violet blinked in surprise and said, "Well, usually-" Before she had the chance to finish speaking, her husband cut in. "We'll have the roast beef. Turkey is for orphans."

Olaf smirked down at his wife before swooping down to peck a gentle kiss to her temple, and then to her cheek before she could react. Quickly, she blushed and glanced from Olaf to his adoptive parents. "Sorry for the analogy, love." The Count purred while, noticing their daughter-in-law's change in facial hue, the parents grinned.

"Now, now," Sali waved a conspiratorial hand in Violet's direction and winked. "No need to be embarrassed. You are married after all. I'd think a little public affection would be encouraged." She winked again and Loid started trudging out of the theatre and up yet another narrow set of stairs that lead to the third floor bedrooms. Olaf threaded his fingers through Violet's and tugged her gently after Loid.

His hand was big and clutching it made her palm sweat, but if he noticed, Olaf didn't comment. It was the first time he'd really held her hand, threaded like this- like a couple. The realization startled the eldest Baudelaire- they weren't a couple! Count Olaf treating her well, even if it was part of another disguise, was unnerving.

Once they'd reached the top of the staircase and padded down a wide blue hallway, Loid stopped at a door at the end of the left side.

"Here," he said, "This will be your room. Dinner should be done within the hour. We'll let you know." The man set Olaf's suitcase before the door but didn't open it. With an easy smile, he turned away and tapped down two flights of stairs to join his wife in the kitchen.

Olaf glanced at Violet curiously, as if he expected her to flip out or scream. When she returned his look with a questioning one of her own, he merely shrugged and opened the door, allowing her to step inside first.

The room itself was large with a fireplace on the farthest wall and three bookshelves on the closest. They were lined with files, a couple jars, some trinkets and, of course, books. She never thought of Olaf as the type to read, let alone extensively. Violet was sure that she'd heard somewhere that only noble people liked to read.

The walls were an ardent red that looked perfect with the hardwood floors, theatre curtains, and stone from the unlit fireplace. The bed was made taught- no doubt by Sali- and was an array of dark blue blankets. The same eye that was tattooed on her husband's left ankle was sewn hugely onto the top blanket. Suddenly the room, no matter how spacious, seemed a bit too small.

"Is there a problem?" Count Olaf snarked as he brushed past the girl to set his suitcase down on a desk she hadn't noticed. She sighed, bracing herself before stating, "There's only one bed."

Olaf raised his eyebrow at the girl and shrugged. "You remember, I said we'd share a bed once your siblings left." Violet winced and the Count scowled. "You could sleep on the floor."

It was Violet's turn to shrug, debating the horrible, grooved hard wood or a fancy bed with a horrible man.

"Violet," Olaf said suddenly, unlatching his suitcase and turning away from her. "There are a few things you should know about…Loid and Sali," Violet was sure he only paused for dramatic effect. When she scowled at the first name basis he seemed to be on with his parents, Olaf waved a spidery hand to the bed and ordered, "Sit." When she complied, legs against the soft blanket, he turned to face her, leaned against the desk, and continued.

"They're my adoptive parents. I'm an orphan. My parents were murdered with a couple of poison darts after I got….recruited," He pointed to his ankle. Instead of focusing on the eye tattoo, Violet felt the overwhelming urge to throw something at the Count for being such a hypocrite. All the time he'd spent making fun of them because they were orphans…

"If you haven't noticed, you will soon. Sali and Loid both have something wrong with them. I don't expect you to understand the psychology behind it," he waved to a shelf full of books. One entitled: _The Complex Relationship of Narcissism and Attraction_ looked the most worn.

"But you still need to know if you're to keep up your role as Countess. Which has been going quite well, speaking of roles, you're going to have a lead role as my Countess in an upcoming musical!" Count Olaf made a grand sweeping gesture with his hands, and his shiny eyes smiled at her. "It will be a tragic love story, not unlike the one we're in!"

Violet ignored his theatric mannerisms, and thought, _'Either way, it's still acting,'_ "And, your parents-"

"Adoptive parents," Olaf hissed and Violet flinched. "Yes, adoptive parents. What exactly is wrong with them? How are you so sure?"

Threading his fingers, the Count smirked before wandering over to his bookshelf. "Let's make a deal, orphan. I'll let you have free reign over my bookshelves- use anything you wish. If you guess correctly whatever mental diseases infect my dear adoptive parents, then you may take this bed and I'll sleep in a spare room. For tonight."

When he didn't continue, Violet pressed, "And if I don't?"

That was where the villain's face lit up with malevolent glee, his eyes shining as if he'd just told the most fantastic joke involving a secret organization, a schism, and a couple of children's books. The look made Violet's stomach drop low, quivery and tainted with fear. She almost blanched.

That look was the same one she'd seen on Olaf when he'd first adopted his future wife and her siblings and all of their emotional, financial, and unfortunate baggage. The look was the same as when he'd murdered Uncle Monty and then Aunt Josephine.

He knew he was about to get his way and that made his as lamentably joyous as a child. "I suppose that if you lose our bet, Violet, you'd grant your handsome, talented husband a penalty kiss. I mean, either way you win, who wouldn't want to kiss me?"

In fact, Violet Baudelaire could name quite a few people who really, really, really, wouldn't want to kiss Count Olaf but she kept them to herself, too calculative at the moment.

As Violet began to tie her hair up- "Hey, that's not the ribbon I bought you!" "Nope,"- she met eyes with her husband and he again waved to his bookshelves, smirking as if he'd already won. In that moment, Violet almost groaned at her epiphany.

Of course he'd won! Violet had innumerable psychology books at her disposal, a calculative, imaginative brain and hours to use them both, but even if she used all three- the books, the brain, and the hours- and found the correct answers, she was still Count Olaf's captive. He could bribe her with the letter- _"Aren't I being generous? Now reward me with a kiss, Countess!"-_ or he could simply shrug her off and make them sleep in the same bed anyway.

Violet was his captive, playing his game under his rules, on his terms and he was the judge. No, either way Olaf won. He was in his element.

"Would I have to kiss you on the mouth?" she asked candidly. Her husband made a tiny sputter and shot her an incredulous look. "Of course you'd kiss me on the mouth!"

"I need to watch them during dinner," She said, past her initial disgust. "Give me dinner to watch them before we start." Olaf nodded boringly and said, "I'll give you a couple of hours after dinner to research."

Violet nodded and stood, her eyebrows furrowed in a steely determination that could only be described as Baudelaire. She needed to prove herself even if her home, her siblings, her freedom had been slashed raggedly. Violet Baudelaire wasn't going to take captivity lightly, no, she'd still be herself- her furtive, intelligent, inventive, lovely, determined, steadfast, careful self. Captive or free she was still Violet Baudelaire and, despite everything, Count Olaf wasn't taking that from her.

She remembered how, right after Aunt Josephine was murdered, she'd thought her husband had taken everything from her.

No, Olaf had stolen her family, her marriage, and her freedom, but he couldn't steal her identity, her personality. She was still as inventive and lovely and determined as before. Olaf wouldn't change that; she wouldn't let him.

Feeling a bit cocky at her steely determination, Violet inquired innocently, "So which book gives me the answers?"

Olaf snorted and rolled his eyes but didn't look up from the tiny book of maps in his hand. Violet could see that lines were traced across the pages, crossed out, circling, and overlapping, almost like a game of tic-tac-toe.

"Tough it out, dear thing, you've faced difficult events before." Her snarky question forgotten, Violet said, "'Dear thing,' why do you keep saying that?"

Olaf shrugged in response. "It'll help us seem like more of a couple is we have pet names. I don't want one. I think pet names are for wusses." She realized his attempt at an insult but didn't remark. "Why do we have to pretend to be a couple?"

That got Olaf's attention, for he gaped at her, almost like he'd done it the hall of his home when Violet wouldn't respond to his threats. "You're not stupid. Don't act like it. Honestly, Violet, _think_. I just _married_ you to get your fortune. Sali and Loid don't know you're a captive Countess, they just think you're my newest plaything. A wife,"

_Plaything_. The word stung more than Violet had expected it to. She wasn't something to handle carelessly for as long as convenient, then drop or use as a scapegoat as a last resort. _Plaything_.

From a tiny speaker on Olaf's desk, Sali's voice announced cheerily, "Time for dinner, dears!" The man snapped his book shut and stepped closer to where Violet was tapping a cloudy jar.

He set his book of maps down on a shelf and squinted at the jar. "There were Lachrymose Lake leeches in there. I can't tell if they're still alive or not. Why don't you stick a finger in and find out?"

Violet stopped tapping to frown at her husband, fingers lingering. Olaf grabbed her right hand and kissed each fingertip as if apologizing. All the while, his eyes never left hers; jokingly shiny, amused at the embarrassed flush of her cheeks.

"C'mon," the Count threaded their fingers and pushed her towards his bedroom door and into his serene hallway. "Time to dine with your ailing in-laws."

_Plaything_.

* * *

**Oh, goodness. Did I make a huge reference to my Lewis Carroll obsession? I might have. Lemony Snicket also seems to find Lewis Carroll inspiring especially when secret codes come in to play. **

**Violet does say in the books- I'm fairly certian it it was in _The Grim Grotto_- that she finds Lewis Carroll a bit too whimsical for her taste. In one poem, Lewis Carroll uses a play on words to reference the song 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' which happens to be Violet's least favorite song. Probably because the song is very similar to one about a little Snicket lad? (I've _that_ song memorized, oddly enough.)**

**Please let me know what you think!**


	4. Act One, Part Four:The Puppet and Her

Act One, Part Four: The Puppet and Her Strings

"I will Love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter who you avoid and who you don't see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go." ~Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

To be fair, the dinner was equal parts lovely, unlovely and confusing. The roast beef her husband had so ardently insisted was lovely. Remembering their own roast beef incident, Violet mentally scolded him. Orphans definitely couldn't make something this good, not even Sunny. The nostalgia and sudden comparison to Sali's cooking and her sister's made Violet wince. No, best not to think of her siblings. Not now.

The setting for 'dining with ailing in-laws' as Olaf had put it, was stunning. They were seated in an alcove next to the kitchen, the walls a darker blue than the hallway upstairs. The blue of the dining room was more regal, more formal. Two silver candlesticks stood atop the white tablecloth, their faces flickering diffidently with excited fervor. The table itself was a deep, polished wooden thing with intricate engravings depicting some kind of battle. Next to Olaf's elbow there was a home on fire. Violet tried hard not to think about it.

The seats were placed close together so she and Olaf would sit snugly across from the in-laws. Lovely setting, lovely food, unlovely people.

"So, Violet, Olaf tells us you'll be in an upcoming play of his- are you excited?" Sali's teeth reflected the happy glimmer of the flame from the candlesticks as she smiled. The girl cordially finished her bite of greens, buying herself time to invent an apropos answer. "Well, I would be more if he'd tell me what it was about." She grinned falsely and nudged the man with her shoulder.

"Keeping it a surprise for now, eh?" Loid asked and his adoptive son shrugged in response.

"Ah," Sali frowned and stood from the table. "I forgot about drinks. Violet, Olaf, what would you like? We've got wine, aqueous martinis, coconut cordial and tea." She looked expectantly at the couple from under her bangs. "I'll have some wine, bring the bottle." Olaf said, "And, Countess, I assume you'll want tea?"

Violet ignored her husband and asked Sali, "What kind of tea do you have?" The woman shrugged sharply, readjusted her posture and threw her hair behind her shoulder, annoyed.

"We have many kinds, mostly peppermint." The eldest Baudelaire shook her head at that, seeing no need to have another allergic reaction so soon after the one she'd induced at Lachrymose Lake. "I'm allergic to peppermint; do you have any star anise?"

Sali rolled her eyes, threw her hair again and said, "I'll see what I can find." As she began to walk away, heels clacking against the hardwood, Loid called, "And I'll have-"

"_You'll drink what I get you!"_ The woman shrieked from somewhere in the kitchen. The sound warbled, unlovely. Loid winced and glanced at the two across the table from his apologetically. "Well, I don't want to argue."

Count Olaf caught his wife's eye then, hinting, furtive. The look confused Violet and she remembered, in that instant, the hint he'd given her on the stairs.

"_And, oh, by the way, Sali has two things wrong with her. If I told you one, I'd be giving away Loid's, so I'll just give away the one that doesn't really matter. Sali's bipolar, at least_." Violet had started to ask him to explain, but he'd taken the opportunity to swipe a chaste kiss on the cheek before sauntering away, eyes gleaming as he silently teased her.

His game, his rules….

After Olaf had said that, the word echoed in Violet, shocking her. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt way too vulnerable. The colors of the stairwell, and now the dinner table, seemed too flat, no shadows, like something too bright from a fever dream.

Bipolar. The word rolled across her tongue, sticky, tainted, unspoken. It wasn't a true fear of the disorder in itself, but at the fact that there was another disorder at all- an ailment. It was the fear of stepping too heavily. She didn't know what Sali's limits were and that there was a second disorder at play just added one more element of edginess to the situation.

The fever dream seemed to stop when Olaf grasped her hand from under the table and rolled his thumb around her index knuckle. Violet fought the urge to yank her hand away and snatch a couple of forks to break the latches on a set of windows and run away. Everyone a threat, everything too sharp, too disorienting…

After a few seconds, the man pinched a muscle between her thumb and her index finger. Soon the girl started to calm, shoulders drooping, colors dulling, shadows returning. She couldn't bring herself to thank him.

Not that the eldest Baudelaire really could've. Count Olaf seemed intent on memorizing the wallpaper pattern off to his right with a sneer.

Truth be told, he didn't _want _to look at her. Olaf didn't want to see himself comforting the orphan, his Countess, Violet. He didn't want to acknowledge that he was being kind _of his own accord_. The man snatched his hand away once he was sure the girl was as comfortable as she had been. She sure had become an anxious thing at times without her family. He didn't need a repeat of Josephine. No, Violet was tougher than that, he knew.

Sali casually stepped back into the room, three wineglasses and a dark bottle in her hand. Wordlessly, she set the things down, backtracked, and brought Violet her tea. The plastic cup was a bright neon pink that clashed with their surrounding as well as the girl's color preferences. Not that Violet would know, but the immature-looking cup would have been the epitome of perfection to one Carmelita Spats.

Violet thanked her mother-in-law quietly but the woman didn't respond. "Olaf, tell me some more about your acting career," she said, beaming widely.

"Yes," Loid smiled, "Tell me, is the silver screen really silver?" Count Olaf grinned at that and flourished a hand as if he were bowing. "Please, if the silver screen were really silver, I'd have it locked in my Tower already!"

The two nodded as if they'd just learned that their newspaper would come a day later from now on and not as if their adoptive son had just confessed to thievery.

"Well I bet you always steal the show!" Loid crowed, trying to be punny. Olaf nodded and glanced at his Countess briefly. "We steal the show along with thousands of dollars in valuables!" Violet barely resisted the urge to snort. Olaf sipped his wine and nodded to her. "Dear thing, this is what we drank on our wedding night."

The girl didn't know how to respond to that so she just smiled, remembering the letter, the bet. "I remember."

The rest of dinner went by well although Violet, for the life of her, couldn't figure out what was ailing her in-laws. Bipolar she could see, especially because Sali had suddenly gone from snapping at Violet for not inviting them to the wedding, to hugging her and getting happy tears over the fact that she'd liked the food. Loid, though, he was an entirely different situation. Violet had no guesses for him.

"Well, I'm tired as can be; you two head on upstairs and we'll meet you down here for breakfast in the morning." Sali said sweetly as the newlyweds nodded. Olaf grabbed Violet's teacup and said to her, "You didn't drink any of this. I'll warm it up for so you can drink it during your studies."

The man stepped over to the stove, found a kettle, and poured the bright cup's contents into it. Violet stared at him suspiciously before realizing she had no control over it anyway and heading up the stairs. Loid was the only one to call up the stairwell, "Sweet dreams, Violet. See you in the morning!"

Without contemplating why, his words cheered her as she padded up the curling wooden steps. "Goodnight, Loid."

Entering Count Olaf's bedroom, her determination resurrected itself with vigor as she scanned the crowded bookshelf. She plucked away _The Complex Relationship of Narcissism and Attraction_ and set it on the desk to her right.

Looking through the bookshelf, Violet was surprised to find a lot more than just books. When she tugged out a psych book, blurry Polaroid photos slipped between the spine and onto the floor. When she bent to pick them up, she gasped.

A familiar snake starred in each of them and captioned in the white outline of the photos were three initials: IDV.

"The Incredibly Deadly Viper," she muttered. Violet glanced through all of the pictures and not one was different from the other. Scowling in concentration, she shuffled the prints together and slid them back to where she'd found them. It joined the other book upon the desk.

Theatre books, poetry books, and vanilla files were crammed together as she ran her fingers over their spines, searching. Something shiny caught her eye and when the girl reached out to touch the vertical lines, they glinted again. The wiry texture was a familiar one. Guitar string? No, violin strings.

Vaguely, Violet wondered if Count Olaf had some kind of musical background to warrant the strings. Footsteps tapped up the stairs and Violet suddenly panicked. Would she look like she was snooping? She most definitely was.

Right before the knob turned to his- their- room, Violet snatched a book off the nearest shelf and flipped to the first page. Her husband strolled in, eyebrow raised, with a different cup in his hand. "Studying hard, orphan?"

She nodded absently, trying to seem distracted. The Count turned his back to her as he set her tea down at his desk before turning again to peer down at the book in her hands. She didn't see the amused smile glide across his face. "That book is most informative, don't you agree?"

Again, Violet nodded absently, "I learned everything I know about a secret organization and an unfortunate string of random fires from that book. Though it's definitely not a psychology book. _You_ can't even read it."

Olaf snatched the book from Violet's hands and thumbed through the pages so his Countess could see them. All of them were blank. Violet bristled with anger and, strangely, humiliation.

"This book can only be read if each page is smeared with fluid squeezed from the Medusoid Mycellium. The diluted version, of course. The trouble is, it dries quick so a new coat needs applied often. Oh, the hardships of my life are never-ending!"

Violet scowled, "You scared me. I didn't want you to think I was snooping. I was looking through your books for our bet." Olaf's eyebrow darted up in surprise at Violet's honest answer. He'd never heard her speak so informally. The man couldn't tell if he liked it or not.

"_The Complex Relationship of Narcissism and Attraction_. This should help you the most. The others are a waste." Olaf grabbed the book with the Incredibly Deadly Viper's Polaroid's in it and set it back where it had been on the shelf.

He glanced at her once before grabbing her shoulders, tugging firmly. He lead her to his desk and set her down behind the smooth oak. Surprisingly, Violet hadn't put up any sort of fight- she hadn't even flinched! She didn't question his choice of book either; she trusted him. The Count almost smiled in muted villainous satisfaction. Violet trusted him more than she thought she did.

"I have some bad news." The man said cheerfully as he walked over to his bed and promptly flung himself across it. From where he was laying on his back, Olaf could see rain tapping at his submarine window. Violet sighed, "Of course you do."

"Sali gave you peppermint tea." The girl sputtered and coughed mid-gulp. Looking shocked and a bit scared, she coughed up tea all over Olaf's desk and the worn books atop it. The man shot up, grabbed a shirt from a drawer, and threw it at her

"Violet, I changed the tea!" His fists were balled and his one eyebrow furrowed in a frustrated glare. She coughed into his shirt once more and stared up at him with red, watery eyes. "You what?"

"I noticed what she did. I gave you star anise like you asked for." He huffed. Her brown eyes widened in surprise, looking adorable under wet lashes. She cleared her throat. "Thank you, Count Olaf."

He didn't reply to her thanks. "I'm off to shower. Get to work."

Shower? Violet hadn't even thought about a shower, let alone Count Olaf taking one. She supposed she could a hot soak for a couple of hours. Or forever.

Her husband turned with a dramatic flair into a door the girl had thought to be a closet. A few moments later, the sound of rushing water convinced her otherwise.

About an hour later, Count Olaf stepped away from his bathroom door to find an orphan entangled in sticky notes. Her hair was drawn into the ribbon she always carried and a pen was stuffed behind her ear, making dark hair tuft out at odd angles. Violet had sticky notes all along her arms; some things scribbled, others circled. The Count guessed she'd placed them there in the hopes that she wouldn't lose them. Despite all of them, the very first thing he had noticed was that she was asleep. Her arms were folded under her head which was atop his book. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder and jostled her. Remembering the last time he woke her up, the Count smirked.

One word among many caught his eye in the lines of yellow paper atop his wife's arms. Roughly, he ripped away the yellow. He almost screamed when he scanned over it- she'd gotten them right. Both of the ailments, she guessed correctly.

Violet won the bet.

In frustration, he ripped the rest of the sticky notes off of her arms and paused. If he was going to get his way- get his _kiss_- he had to play nice. The realization sickened him.

Gently and swiftly, the Count pushed back Violet's chair and checked to make sure her shoes were off. The man struggled for a few minutes to untangle the ribbon from her hair, slowing only to mutter, "Should've kept the monkey."

Only when he swept her up bridal style did she begin to stir. Her eyelids dropped and opened unattractively, her eyesight blurred and unfocussed behind them.

"Co-" she nodded sleepily, "Code-" she tried to say, but the Count cut her off by placing her on his bed. She relaxed with a groggy sigh. Once more, she tried to speak. "Count Olaf, he's-" Olaf shut her up by snapping off the lights. Moonlight from his circular submarine window on the wall cast weird shadows down Violet's face; creating a visage of death. She looked sickly, molted, imperfect and dead.

"Hush, Countess." Olaf tried his most soothing voice, but to his ears is sounded harsh and strangled.

Only when he was sure that she wouldn't wake and shriek at him, did Olaf climb in next to her and tug the blankets around them both. Thoughts of sentimental things like weddings and rings and root beer floats and unhidden emotions and orphans crossed the villain's mind as he glanced at his Countess. Olaf was never one to dwell on pleasantries and sentimentalities- he'd sooner spit on them.

Count Olaf deemed his unusual thoughts to something in the food and left it at that. Yes, when Violet snuggled closer to rest her head on his shoulder, it was only the food that made his stomach drop.

Contrite in his reasoning, the Count quickly fell asleep, Violet still close. That night he dreamed of nimble-fingered youths and burning brick buildings.

* * *

When the eldest Baudelaire woke she was alone. All of her sticky notes were gone save for the one stuck to her forehead. As she sat up with a jolt, she also realized that her hair had been released from its ribbon. She frowned as she read the strangely placed sticky note.

**_Orphan, _**

**_Go take a shower. You're looking frumpy again. Be quick about it and get downstairs._**

**_-Your amazing, talented, handsome, delicious, talented, handsome husband_**

Violet rolled her eyes but did as she was told. The shower turned out to be exactly what she needed. As the girl padded down the blue staircase, still-damp bare feet sticking a bit to the wood, she caught a whiff of breakfast.

"Good morning, Violet!" Loid called from a tiny table on the other side of the kitchen. The place itself was open and spacious with checkered floor tiles and white-washed walls. "Good morning, Loid," she smiled easily at the man where he sat across from her husband. Olaf looked at her quizzically, inspecting. He nodded at her as she walked over. "Glad to see you showered. You were starting to smell."

Her method of payback wasn't really a conscious decision. Without reconsidering, Violet stepped behind her husband and wrapped her arms around his neck. Enthusiastically, she kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Good morning, dear thing."

Color began to creep in from Olaf's shirt collar and Violet mentally cheered. _Serves you right._

Before Olaf could retaliate, Loid grabbed Violet's wrist and lead her to the seat next to him. He shoved a plate of eggs and greens under her chin. Still smirking, the girl began to eat.

"Violet, I hear you're quite the inventor!" Loid crowed, splashing coffee onto the table. He didn't hurry to clean it up. "Yes, I-" "I was wondering if you'd like to help me with a little project of mine." Violet immediately perked.

"Of course!" she cried, pausing a forkful of egg and green pepper that was halfway to her mouth. "Your manners are impeccable," Olaf sneered hypocritically. "What are you working on?" Violet asked, resuming eating and staring eagerly at Loid. His green eyes met hers with ease.

"Actually it was your husband's design." Violet inhaled so quickly she almost choked. "Surprised, dear thing?" Olaf purred and Violet nodded several times in shocked response.

"It's a skylight project!" Loid said, "I'm very fond of charting stars and this design was perfect!"

Olaf leaned forward on his elbows and offered Violet a speared raspberry. She ate it quickly, eager to return her attention to the project. He told her, "I sketched it so that one would even be able to see a dark crow flying through a pitch black sky."

"Why does that sound familiar?" Violet wondered aloud and the Count smirked. "Poison darts, suspicious eyes, deadly fires, and batiseers? If only you knew."

Suddenly, Violet was overwhelmed with urgency. It reflected in her expression as she grasped the tablecloth, deep wrinkles flowing from her clenched knuckles. Her eyes were so pleading, it shocked the Count.

"Will you tell me someday? Please?" Her voice was hard and uncertain. Olaf's resolve cracked a bit. "Maybe someday," he said softly.

Sali burst into the kitchen with a grin and a small giggle. She pecked all three of them on the top of the head. "Morning, lo-" She glared at the coffee stain Loid hadn't yet bothered with. When he saw his wife's expression, he suddenly stood and grabbed Violet's wrist. "Violet, come here," he said and dragged her off through the kitchen and into a room she hadn't seen before. Once in the unimportant-looking room, Loid stepped up to a closed door, and then turned to face his daughter-in-law.

"I need you to run into town and do me a favor. Look for large glass panels, yes? Preferably some with mirror glass, yes?" He reached into his pocket and handed her a crumpled ball of paper money. "Now, off you go! Hurry back so I can show you my project!"

He grabbed Violet's shoulders- his fingers were rough and knobby and reminded her of dragon knuckles- and spun her back towards the kitchen. "Violet?" Olaf swung around the corner and collided with her. She stifled a shriek of surprise. If Count Olaf knew that his adoptive father had just given her money and permission to head into town, he might not let her go. It might be her only chance to find Klaus and Sunny. She willed herself to stay calm.

"Are you okay? You look sickly." Olaf suddenly grinned wolfishly and, as Loid retreated into his project room, backed her up against the wall, their bodies pressed close together. "I didn't like your attitude earlier." He grinned as he leaned in and kissed her cheek. The girl didn't flinch or look nearly as disgusted as usual, which had to be a good sign. "Loid sent you off to town?"

At his question, Violet glared, afraid to say anything. "Well, I trust you won't run off in search of your worm and your monkey. You've no idea where they are." He slipped a letter from his back pocket and flashed it at the girl. Violet could see Klaus' rushed handwriting scrawl her name upon its face.

"If you return to me I'll give you your letter." Count Olaf left it at that and muttered a sarcastic, "Be safe," as she stepped out of the front door.

Finding the town wasn't difficult, it was an easy guess seeing as they were the only home on a one-way cul-de-sac. No, the hard part was finding the panes Loid wanted.

The town was full of happy-looking people and moderately priced groceries, but nothing that seemed even remotely close to mirrored or glass frames. Violet soon grew frustrated, little blotched of color on her cheeks gave way to the emotion while her face remained blank.

The flash of a quickly moving figure rippled atop the front windows of a restaurant window she'd been peering into, startling her. From inside she could hear a mournful melody quickly picking up pace.

_"Pedantic, stubborn, ever-searching,_

_Studies shifting, ever-lurching_

_Mourning eternal, this fire's left_

_Built of secrets, eyes, schisms, theft._

_Very Formidable Deviants and_

_Orphans left alone to stand_

_Within the ashes of their own_

_And lies that they have far outgrown-!"_

The figure stepped closer and Violet could see his top hat, scarf, a book of bats in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. He looked alarmingly, achingly familiar.

"Violet Baudelaire," said the man, his eyebrows drawn down in a look of concern. He had a pale face, blue eyes and a very contrite voice. "Where are your siblings? Are they safe and preferably well-dormed?"

The eldest Baudelaire turned to face the stranger. Her eyes took in his form with a confused, bewildered expression.

The man started suddenly, switched the book to his right hand and held out his left for her to shake. "I do hope you'll pardon me for my immediate personal inquiries, for although I've been a part of your family in more ways than one for many years, I forget that the last time you saw me you were very small and had already began inventing ways to remove yourself from your crib. My name is Lemony Snicket, would you like a root beer float?"

* * *

**I'm not sure which book it is exactly, almost totally sure it was_ The Bad Beginning_, but we find out in one of them that star anise is Violet's favorite tea.**

**Quotes like,_ "Please, if the silver screen were really silver, I'd have it locked in my Tower already!"_ are actually paraphrased quotes that I found on coutolafdotcom during research for this fic. It's a very entertaining site!**

**Both Sali L. Thammock and Sir Loid Rolp Thammock _are_ anagrams and their names have to do with their 'ailments.'**

**_"I made it so that one would even be able to see a dark crow flying through a pitch black sky."_ Does anyone recognize this from _The Vile Village_? _The Penultimate Peril_, perhaps?**

**Let me know what you think!**


	5. Act One, Part Five: Secrets, Eyes

Act One, Part Five: Secrets, Eyes, Schisms, Theft and Root Beer Floats

"I will Love you with no regard to the actions of our enemies or the jealousies of actors." ~Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

"Why root beer floats?"

Violet had cautiously entered the restaurant with Mr. Snicket and sat at a small table for two closest to the windows. The place itself was small and dimly-light with red walls and mahogany tabletops. It smelled of nostalgia, secrets, and things half forgotten and important. It smelled of nostalgia, secrets and old books.

Mr. Snicket smiled at that, a bit sadly. "Your mother and I used to come here for them often."

For the second time in two days, Violet gasped into her beverage and choked. "You- You knew my mother?" Lemony glanced at the book of bats atop the table, then to his beverage, and back to Violet. "We were very closely acquainted. She was my best friend."

Violet's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she sipped her root beer float. Not knowing how to continue, she stuck to what she knew and said, "You asked about Klaus and Sunny. They're not with me… I'm not sure _where_ they are."

"What? _Where_ are _you_?" Lemony's reaction was immediate and intense. Violet averted her gaze suddenly, confusingly embarrassed.

"I'm living with Count Olaf and his parents. Oh, Mr. Snicket, Count Olaf is a greedy man whose-"

"Sole purpose in life is to steal fortunes, be a despicable cad, neglect his personal hygiene and cause unparalleled fear and woe? I may or may not know him or any of his peculiar eccentricities such as his one eyebrow, mysterious tattoo of a secret organization, and vile acting abilities."

Violet was again struck by how contritely this man spoke. "A tattoo of a mysterious organization?" The girl inquired, right as Mr. Snicket asked, "And why are you living with Count Olaf and his adoptive parents?"

"Oh dear, it seems we have many questions to answer. You go first for I'm sure my explanation shall take much longer." Violet nodded in understanding as a chill of anticipation made her shiver. She'd finally get some answers and all this man wanted was her story in exchange.

"Guised as a musical, Count Olaf actually married me and adopted Klaus and Sunny and got our fortune. He sent Klaus and Sunny off somewhere and kept me with him to be his Countess and Klaus wrote me a letter and Olaf's using that to win the bet- Oh! But we're with his parents because he's using our fortune to renovate his home. And- and there's something wrong with them and that's our bet and I _still_ won it, but Olaf made me sleep with him anyway-"

"_THAT VILLAIN!"_ Mr. Snicket roared in outrage. Just as suddenly, he clutched his head and moaned, "Oh, I feel ill. I need to lie down. Oh, that monster!"

"Mr. Snicket!" Violet blushed, "That- that's not what I meant! I meant that literally. We slept in the same bed, not- not-" The girl shut up before she could embarrass herself any further.

The man removed his hands from his face and stared at her for a moment. Finally, he nodded and readjusted his bowl-shaped hat. "Well, that's a relief. Please continue."

Violet took a large sip from her half-gone root beer float, hoping the temperature of the drink would pacify her flaming face. Despite the temperature of the compressed yeast, sugar, sassafras, hops, juniper berries, dandelion root, wintergreen, carbonated water and melting vanilla ice cream, her blush remained. "So both Sali and Loid have things wrong with them. Sali's bipolar and narcissistic and Loid-"

"Are these Sir Loid Rolp Thammock and Sali L. Thammock?" Violet nodded, intrigued. Lemony smiled oddly. "They sound like anagrams."

The eldest Baudelaire resisted the urge to ask, _"Ana- who?"_ Again, Violet felt the loss of her brother's absence.

"Anyway, I won the bet and Count Olaf's been teasing me like mad! He- he does affectionate things, like hold my hand or kiss me when I can't call him on it. It's become a sort of game, actually. He doesn't seem to be as bad as I thought he was. Of course, he could be much worse a captor." Violet bit her bottom lip and glanced around the mostly empty restaurant, bewildered by what she'd just truthfully admitted. At her statement, Lemony laughed once, twice, three times in incredulity and it was over.

"And Vice Principal Nero can play the violin!" Lemony shouted comically as if it were some great joke. Violet lifted an eyebrow in inquiry, but when he didn't elaborate she continued. "But Loid's actually an inventor. He sent me here to buy mirrored and glass panes for him and Count Olaf let me go."

Lemony shook his head and swirled his straw a bit. Violet wondered, suddenly, how many times he'd been here and with how many different people. He smiled oddly again. "You're using an extreme amount of run-on sentences. What would your Aunt Josephine think?" Violet instantly grew gloomy. "She'd scold me and give me a lesson."

"Contrariwise, I think she'd lock you in her library for a couple of days." Lemony teased and watched as the girl smiled hesitantly back. "Count Olaf," she began hesitantly, "he-" "Murdered all of your past guardians to cause you to inherit their fortunes and the three of you under his control? Yes, I know."

"How do you know that?" Violet, although she didn't show it, was suspicious and ready to run. She regretted following Lemony, regretted her question that didn't seem to have answers, regretted how this man always seemed to ask the wrong questions. Lemony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I believe you inquired as to a suspicious organization."

"Tell me what you know," Violet took that bait, fully knowing what it was- a distraction. The man shook his head as if the task would take years. "I know that I may speak freely here, but there's so much you don't know... The eye tattoo is a symbol for us, though we haven't been using it as of late. Despite what you may think, we don't all start fires and murder…Formally, we're called the Volunteer Fire Department- VFD." Lemony took a napkin from the center of the table and drew the eye using the previously stated initials. Another chill swept down Violet's spine and made her shiver. "VFD," she muttered, trying to memorize the letters. "Volunteer Fire Department."

Lemony nodded. "There was a schism in our organization, though. Some wanted to use our resources- the Medusoid Mycellium, our hawks, our lions, our codes, our knowledge- for evil."

"Count Olaf has a book that can only be read with Medusoid Mycellin. And a person isn't completely noble of completely evil, Mr. Snicket." Her last sentence surprised the man so much that his hands twitched and the paper bag crunched. The table shook with the force of the involuntary motion. More questions built in Violet's mouth the longer he said nothing.

"You've learned that already? At only fifteen?" Lemony's voice cracked and he wouldn't look at her. Oh, how he longed for his accordion, his secrets, his research, his normalcy, his matches, his codes, his _Beatrice_.

"I have." Violet stated quietly, glancing from the woebegone man to the hardwood floors, to the last few sips of her root beer float. Clear drops had beaded against the glass. Her ice cream shifted against the swirled straw, white bleeding to blend with brown. "Count Olaf- he's a wicked person. He killed my past guardians and forced me to marry him, stole our fortune and sent my siblings away. He's vile and greedy-"

As if he were actually in the restaurant reciting the same poem for Lemony and her, Desmond's words resounded clear and strong in Violet's memory, unfazed by the foggy uncertainty that usually accompanies memories.

"_Wedded to our Count, a heartless, greedy man..."_ Lemony nodded in agreement and flipped his book around in his hands. _"Now she'll remain and siblings not. Love and hate, let's stir the pot."_

_Love and hate?_ Violet felt sick. _Love?_

"He- he's vile and greedy but he's been very…tolerable." Immediately, there was the same reaction as earlier.

"And Captain Widdershins isn't repetitive!" Again with that comical jeer. Distantly, under the startling realization that the Count had been decent to her, Violet wondered if Lemony Snicket was a cynical man.

"No, really. He's been helpful. He's calmed me down and switched my tea, and he's even going to let me invent with Loid." Violet tried to not sound like she was pleading.

A phrase of Klaus' resonated in her head, _"One of two minds- If you're one of two minds, it means that you have two opinions of something, and they usually oppose each other."_ She was definitely one of two minds when it came to Count Olaf. It infuriated the girl, shamed her. She felt like she'd betrayed her family. She couldn't live up to loathing him when he was helping her; she couldn't protect them with wavering hatred.

"Beware, Violet, or else you'll be infected with Alcander's Syndrome!" Lemony looked distressed in that moment. "Alcander's Syndrome is the same as Stockholm Syndrome," He told her, expecting to make sense.

"Well I don't know what that is either!" The girl fumed, irritation building. "Thank you very much for the root beer float, Mr. Snicket, but I must find mirrored and glass panes for Loid."

With that, Violet stood while the man remained seated. He looked up at her with apparent remorse. "Violet, I've so many things to tell you. If I show you a place I know you can get mirrored and glass panes for Loid, would you agree to meet me again?"

Hesitantly, Violet nodded. She'd like to know more about VFD and her parents, especially what Mr. Snicket had to do with them both.

"Great, now follow me."

* * *

It was one thing for Loid to ask Violet to go into town and find very large, very sharp things, but it was another to expect her to carry them all the way back to the house. She hadn't been walking for very long, but already her arms were bloody and cut and throbbing.

Conveniently, seeing oneself was out so the inhabitants of Dark Avenue had quickly disposed of mirrors and even their windows. Renovations were being done to the apartments so no light could seep in.

Lemony had left her fairly quickly after that saying, "I must return to spying on my representative. He's going undercover as myself for the day and infiltrating the Daily Punctilio to discover if all the things they print are lies. Good day, Violet Baudelaire. I'll see you at the same place next week. Try not to get infected with Alcander's!"

The girl had walked laboriously, thinking of her letter all the way. The moon was high, it casted her shadow down the rocky hill she was climbing as if it had snagged and stretched. Violet's ribbon fluttered against her left ear, whipped around by the wind.

Car headlights, thick and unfamiliar, blinded the eldest Baudelaire as it rounded a corner. The ruddy beams reflected off the mirror glass. She squinted in a surprised grimace as she recognized a voice. "Violet!"

Loid parked his car right next to her and hopped out quickly. His hair was tufted; his clothes were wrinkled and dirty with soot. Two spots of color characterized and uncharacteristically distressed face.

"Oh, Violet, it's Olaf! Oh, goodness, you're bleeding! Oh, you've found my mirrored and glass panes for me! Oh, Violet, it's Olaf!" Loid had snatched up the panes, opened the trunk and gently set them inside it. He then turned to her, eyes wide and hands trembling. "He thought you'd left him. He's been a wreck- Oh, goodness, just get in the car!"

Confused and fearful, Violet complied, the thick car beams rippling across her dress as she did. Only when she opened the passenger door, did she realize that Sali had accompanied her husband. The blonde woman sneered at Violet as she shut the door and quickly hopped in the back. Before she was even fastened in properly, Loid took off, speeding down the bumpy roads. He muttered to himself, "Hope he didn't set anything else on fire…"

"You know this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't suggested that she run off into town in the first place." Sali sneered. Loid merely said, "Well, I don't want to argue."

_"And you!"_

Sali suddenly whipped around in her seat to glare at her daughter-in-law. "Why would Olaf be so quick to assume you'd left him, hmm? He's a wreck! _'My Countess, find me my Countess!' _He cares about you and you're not even concerned!"

Violet sputtered. "But- but I was only gone for a couple of hours!" Sali's tone changed then, turned mournful and wounded. "You were gone all day!" she wailed through sudden tears, "You left him alone to worry about you all day! _'What if the others find her and snatch her up by her ankles? I'll never see her again!"_

A pang of guilt struck Violet so fiercely her heartbeat fumbled. "I'll help. I'll calm him down."

The car pulled up at the house witch creaky brakes. It seemed to blend in with the sky- black against black. She could only see the windows, lit-up and angular, against the face of the home. "See that you do!"

As she extracted herself from the vehicle, Loid mumbled, "We'll just stay here."

Violet stomped towards the house on wobbly legs, wondering how much of her husband's fit was real and how much was a ruse. The front door knob was freezing against her palm. With a loud creak it opened and she poked her head inside. Everything looked normal. "Count Olaf?"

Her voice bounded throughout the house in unanswered warbles, unlovely. "Count Olaf?"

Violet walked hesitantly inside, searching the kitchen, the dining room, the living room and not finding her husband. She was beginning to get worried, a knot like silence tied thickly in her stomach. "Count Olaf?"

She tapped upstairs and was surprised to find the stage lights on in the small theatre. "_Count Olaf? Count Olaf?_ Just go find your siblings, orphan, you're of no use to me." Violet was startled to find the man on the stage, lying on his back and glaring up at the intense lights.

Three bottles of wine encircled him, two on their bellies and one upright. The one upright was the only one that still had wine in it. She could see the dark liquid through the familiar green glass.

Violet struggled to hoist herself onto the stage, feet slipping against the polished wood every time that she tried. Olaf watched from where he laid still with an amused grin. After the fifth try, she managed to heave herself onto the stage and wiggle over. He was still grinning as she came and sat next to him.

Olaf looked like he wanted to tell a joke about an orphan that couldn't do things, but he refrained. "Why're you here?"

"Where else would I be?" she asked. Olaf tried to shrug and waved a hand around the empty theatre, indicating: _anywhere else._

"I thought you left me." Olaf admitted quietly as the silence stretched unbearably. Violet nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Why did that affect you so badly?" Against her better judgment, Violet took a swig from the wine bottle and noted, "We drank this on our wedding night." He ignored her. He already knew.

"Is it terrible to be emotional if I think my Countess leaves me?" Violet considered this, rolling the thin bottle between her palms. "No. But I'm not your Countess by choice and you wouldn't have me if not for my fortune." The Count sputtered in harsh, self-pitying laughter. Violet flinched.

"Are you so sure of that?" he laughed, "You- Violet- you're- Oh, damn it all! I hated that you left me! The idea had me furious! I broke Sali's tea kettle and burned some prized artwork in the backyard! I… I like having a Countess." His face contorted then into a mediocre pout. Violet flopped down on her back next to him and sighed, wondering when the moment came that physical contact with the Count had stopped freaking her out.

Olaf struggled for a second before handing the girl a pair of sunglasses. They were the same ones he had used to practice dramatically exiting his car. They made the theatre lights above bearable.

"Yes, but you'd like having anyone as your Countess." Olaf sputtered again. "I loathed Esme Squalor. All she cared about was what was in. Annoying." Olaf hiccupped. Violet sighed and didn't object when he took her hand and held it in the air to look at. He rolled the crappy plastic wedding ring between his fingers. Some of the silver paint had chipped off and she had a band of green directly under it.

"My plan was to drink until I ruined my liver." For some reason, Violet found this extremely funny. She laughed and curled into a ball at his side, fingers still wrapped around her captor's. Her laughs bounded around the absent theatre, a welcome sound for the usually-silent place. Violet hadn't laughed in a long time. "Glad you find my death so amusing." The Count couldn't keep his grin subdued.

When she stopped laughing, Violet finally stated, "Well, this is twisted. You, Count Olaf, you murdered my guardians, stole my fortune, and sent my siblings away but now we're married and can tolerate each other." Olaf grinned wolfishly and raised his wine bottle to that.

"Yes, twisted. The world is a very scary place, my dear." Finally, Olaf sat up and blinked as his eyes adjusted. Violet remained laying, sunglasses jammed firmly in place.

"You're bloody." Olaf stated. Violet stated blandly, "I had to carry those panes back." Olaf groaned in annoyance and whipped his sunglasses off her face and stuck them on her head. Her knees were scooped into the crook of his elbow as he scooted to the edge of the stage and jumped off expertly, Violet cradled bridal style. "You know, I can walk."

Olaf shrugged, successful this time. "Yes, but walking wouldn't aid me in my efforts to woo you."

He carried her through the hallway and kicked open a random door. It was a bathroom, very large, with three gray walls and one gold. A crystalline, clawfoot tub glinted at her as Olaf snapped the lights on. He set her on the sink counter and stepped into the hall to grab a first-aid kit. "Woo me?"

He stepped in and quickly rolled up the sleeves of her dress. "Well, I think tonight has proven that I'll drink until I ruin my liver without you. So, why not? I mean, it's not like you could've resisted someone as handsome as me for much longer."

Violet felt affronted and clumsy. "Well, what if I don't want you to woo me?" Olaf paused the warm rag he was cleaning her cuts with. He wore a puzzled expression. He looked as though the thought had never occurred to him. The he simply shrugged, "Too bad,"

"You can't just tell me you're going to woo me and then expect me to be okay with it!" Her husband tugged the gauze a bit tighter than necessary. "I do and you will."

Violet rolled her eyes and muttered, "Greedy Count Olaf does it again." Unexpectedly, he shouted, "Evil's triumphed, evil's won!" The girl hopped off of the sink counter and huffed, "May I just go to bed now?"

Olaf nodded, obviously distracted. His eyes were shiny with a sudden epiphany. He said curtly, "I suppose." With that, she headed to their room upstairs, flipped her shoes off and climbed into bed.

Hours later when Olaf returned from whatever he'd been doing, Violet awoke but remained still. When he turned to look at her, all balled up in his bed, a VFD blanket wrapped around her snugly, he sighed. It was only minutes later that Violet found herself nestled up against the Count, his chest to her back, one of his arms draped over her waist.

Though, she still pretended. Even when he whispered sleepily, with the barest of whispers, "Night, Countess," she remained still. Quickly, Violet snuggled closer to Olaf, murderer, arsonist, villain, and tried to fend off the guilt.

The guilt didn't stop her from whispering back, "Goodnight."

* * *

**Okay, first off, Alcander's Syndrome doesn't exist. When I didn't think I would publish this on here, I had just finished reading Mottlemoth's snarry, _Time and Time Again_ which has a mentioning of Alcander's being similar to Stockholm Syndrome.**

**I hope some of you have read _The Unauthorized Autobiography_, because there are quite a few references to it in this Act.**

**When Count Olaf says,_ "The world is a very scary place, my dear."_ it's a direct quote from a Gothic Archies song. The Gothic Archies have released a whole album about ASoUE with the collaboration of Daniel Handler himself. One of their songs will become especially important around Act Three! They really are quite inspiring.**

**When Mr. Snicket says _Contrariwise,_ it was another little way of slipping Lewis Carroll into this, which will undoubtedly happen again.**

**Ah, the past website I tried to mention was, sorry! I'm still getting the hang of FFN.**

**Please let me know what you think!**


	6. Act One, Part Six: Crossed Schisms,

Act One, Part Six: Crossed Schisms, Broken Glass, and Renovations

"I will Love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings Love to chase them back out," ~Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

"What have you done, you stupid girl? Get away from him! Get back!"

The next morning found Violet Baudelaire in a strange situation. She'd minded her own business all morning, happily, if not warily, chatted with Sali over a breakfast of crepes and fruit. Again there were raspberries. "Violet, can you cook? I love to cook because I'm so very good at it. People adore my-" she'd erupted into a strange French food title.

After that, Violet had wandered into the living room searching for the door that led to Loid's skylight room. She'd gotten distracted by the bookshelves, running her fingers over their spines: Charlotte's Web, 200 Nursery Rhymes, an album of articles clipped from the Daily Punctilio and a Lewis Carroll collection.

It was in front of this bookshelf that she heard the loudest boom possible. It shook the artwork on the walls that wasn't in a charred pile in the backyard and the very floorboards rumbled with the force of it. She hadn't noticed that the bookshelf was falling until a collage of books fell atop her, like a series of hardback punches.

A familiar voice whispered, very close to her ear, "Count Olaf saves the day again. Guess I'm not a complete villain, yes?"

That was when Sali had burst into the living room looking flustered and angry. "What have you done, you stupid girl? Get away from him! Get back!"

Olaf grinned and shifted the bookshelf until it fell to the hardwood with a sharp bang not nearly as loud as the former. "Honestly, Violet could pick that thing up with three fingers. It's not heavy enough to hurt." He paused and turned to his Countess, mouth opened to say something before he snapped it shut again.

"Well, good morning, Countess," The Count jeered instead, leaning towards her with an easy, sly grin. He leaned even closer and pecked her on the cheek, watching as she never flinched or even glared at him. Olaf wanted to laugh in genuine excitement- He was wooing her!

"What's on the agenda for today?" Violet asked, eyeing the Count warily. He kicked around a couple of books, aiming an especially hard kick at a script written almost entirely in Sebald code. It slid away easily.

Olaf hummed noncommittally. "I'm off to see how the renovations are coming and work on the newest musical with my Troupe. You can't come yet, Countess. Plus, Loid needs you today."

The adoptive parent of discussion suddenly emerged from his hidden door, sweaty, disheveled, and grinning. He had oil smeared across his forehead like he'd pushed his hair back and forgot what he was working with.

"Oh, goodness. I was afraid that might happen one of these days. It was bound to happen with all that jumping on the walls I do. Good morning, Violet! I think that skylight is ready to welcome you now. Are you up to it?"

Violet glanced at Olaf who placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded. "Go bond with your father-in-law. I'll return to you tonight." When the Count kissed her, the girl leaned into it and grinned. "Don't take too long. I'll begin to think you've left me."

Sali guffawed at the joke which made her promptly burst into tears about how inconsiderate Violet was. They both ignored her.

With one last glance at the other, Olaf winked and shut the door. A warm feeling, unfamiliar and light, spread throughout the girl's chest as she followed Loid into the secret door. When Violet glanced around, Loid shutting the door firmly and locking it behind her shoulders, the happy feeling vanished instantaneously. It wouldn't return for a very long time.

* * *

_"Misfortune brought me to this moment, though it all shall fly away."_

_"You're worth all of-"_

"No, no, no, no, no!" Olaf shrieked, throwing his map book over the heads of his Troupe. It hit the dark wall behind them and fluttered to the ground with a smack. "The eleventh word should be _burn!_ Not fly- _burn!"_ The Troupe didn't respond but gaped at the man, open-mouthed and waiting.

Count Olaf had never been this pedantic about anyone's part but his own. In previous musicals, if one of them had a problem with their lyrics, the Count's telltale response would be,_ "What do you want me to do about it? Just make something up if you have to!" _Obviously, The Rebellious Reunion was different from their previous musicals.

"It is imperative- for you lowly, half-wit actors unlike myself, imperative is _a word which here means_," he sneered the last five words in an annoying tone. Olaf paused, "Important, or something. Now it is imperative that you say burn in the chorus, else our words get jumbled and," he paused dramatically, "Misunderstood."

With a wave of his hand, the Count barked, "Do it again!"

To try and calm his temper, the man stomped out of the small civic theatre and onto the grimy front stoop. It was bad enough that he couldn't rehearse his most important- he corrected himself _imperative_- musical yet in his home theatre because of all of the renovations. But to rehearse in such a grimy, musty-smelling, foul public theatre such as this? It was hell. Positively, such an actor of his enormous amount of talent deserved better.

Olaf grinned maliciously and clutched the pack of matches in his pocket as he debated lighting the place up. Now wouldn't that confuse his fellow volunteers? Underneath the cloudy, rainy city, he tugged the box free.

Upon sliding it open, it revealed nine sturdy but very thin, green matches. Ironically, the things were made from the same emerald wood that the old VFD headquarters used to be. They had kept Lucky Smells busy, there was no doubting that.

In a rogue thought, Olaf wondered, in a tiny part of his mind that resembled a worn incriminating photograph, if the smoke would still smell the same.

Olaf glanced up at the nearly-dead city, and barely had time to mutter, "Oh, damn," before jamming the box back. One of his matches snapped in the process. In his fury, Olaf debating setting the quickly-approaching man aflame.

Lemony Snicket was walking briskly down the sidewalk, alternately glancing at the sky and to the newspaper clutched in his hands. "You," Olaf spat before he could stop himself. Long-abandoned fear and apprehension made him have questionable judgment.

Lemony stopped directly in front of the actor who stood on the mossy stoop. He didn't look up from his newspaper when he stated, "Hello, Olaf." The actor smiled maliciously again and asked, "What are you doing breathing? Last I heard, you were dead."

At last, the man folded up his newspaper and tucked it between his arm and his chest. He glanced up to meet the eyes of his old schoolmate. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps you are also. Perhaps we're both dead. Dead as composers."

A flash of remembrance shot through Count Olaf as he recalled how he loathed the way Lemony never truly answered the questions you asked him. He'd step around them, shrink them, take them apart and stitch them back together as an unsolvable anagram but never ever truly respond.

"I'm not dead, you illiterate-" "Illiterate?"

This was the only time that Olaf had ever seen Lemony look truly insulted. Embarrassed, he'd seen- _"I am sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends, Beatrice. I only wanted to talk to you." _

Mournful, yes- "_Our love broke my heart, and stopped yours."_

And even enraged once, as he'd passed the man at a masquerade as he was speaking to his fiancé. _"-it? And put what inside? What shall we do with it? Use it for tea? Hide it at the bottom of the ocean?"_

"I may be many things, Count Olaf," Lemony bent to pick up the pieces of the emerald match. Olaf resisted the urge to knee his nose in.

Familiar brown eyes stared at Olaf as he stood and held the two sticks between them. The villain could see the point Lemony was trying to make, so he grabbed one of the matches from the man's fingers. He'd gotten the side with the match head.

"And one could accuse me of many things, an undecided amount of them true and an undecided amount completely undecided, but I cannot be accused of being illiterate rightly."

Olaf grinned, feeling the similarities between them multiply, suddenly recognized. "I'll agree with you. One could also accuse me of many things."

Lemony nodded understandingly, if not a bit grudgingly; as if admitting to similarities with the villain was a crime in itself.

"One thing all of those undecided accusations have forced me to learn is that no one is completely noble or completely evil." The previous theatrical critic held out his half of the broken match. Olaf stuck the other splintered side to meet it, two long-broken bones jammed hopefully back in to place.

The schism had been partly nullified.

"I'm sorry I was such a disappointment." Lemony said curtly, his own type of goodbye, and began to rush away quickly, his half of the match clenched protectively in his fist.

"Snicket," Olaf snapped, the usual fury gone, "Be here. Next month. The thirteenth." Lemony paused but didn't turn to look back at him. Olaf tucked his half of the match behind his ear and kicked away pebbles that weren't there off the stoop.

"I'll leave you a script behind the red curtains on the third floor stairwell. Seven-o-clock." Lemony nodded once and began to walk away again, remembering hospitals, knots of silence, an eagle with oh-so-precious cargo and engagement plans.

* * *

"Why is this eye on the ceiling? Why can it mean so many things? Why can't it be purely evil or purely noble, unlike people? Why does everything seem so flammable?" Violet asked Loid who was standing on the ground, ready to hand her a freshly-cut piece of glass.

The girl tugged on a rope to her right and quickly lowered herself, the swing safe and secure against her lower back. The tiny bag of mirror glass tied around her hips jingled as she fell. It repeated itself as the elastic stopped her just long enough to snatch the glass from Loid carefully before bouncing back up.

"I'm not sure," Loid smiled sadly, understandingly. "Why is it that I'm so codependent? Why is it that I can't control my wife? Why can't I fix her? Why doesn't she _need_ me?" His hopeless tone caused a pang of pity to shoot through the girl's chest. Violet watched closely as she fit the pane into its spot, the metal tight and inflexible around it. A breeze broke off from the open sky and skimmed across her face. When she looked outside, all she could see were acres of forest surrounding them.

"Why am I here?" Violet asked, so Loid had to strain to hear her. They'd taken to venting about an hour ago. It had been brought upon by Violet's reaction to Loid's skylight.

With all the metal outline secured and bits of glass mismatched around it, the VFD eye covered the whole ceiling in a dome-shaped paradox. Her reaction had been almost immediate.

"Loid, you said Count Olaf designed this skylight, didn't you?" The girl had felt sick as she gazed up at the metal eye, unblinking, and it back at her.

Fascination and curiosity made her want to touch it. Symbolism and uncertainty made her want to flee.

"Yes," Loid said distractedly as he carefully measured the panes for cutting.

"Do you know why?"

The man had stopped what he was doing and stared at her cautiously. "All I know," he said, like he was choosing his words very carefully, very practically, "Is that there are many, many secrets in this world, Violet, and just as much symbolism and pseudonyms and too-late letters."

He continued with a world-weary sigh. "These kinds of things have been happening since my adoptive son was taken away by his ankles one night. Ever since then, this-" he waved a hand to the skylight. Loid looked so human then, so very tired that his bones creaked and his heart wailed. In that moment, Violet completely understood her father-in-law. "This eye has shown up everywhere and I'm powerless under it."

The girl lowered herself from the domed ceiling, pulling on both cords on either side of her so she'd slow down enough not to spill the oil can tied around her left ankle. Her fingers became slick with the black substance as she went.

"Is this going to be used for astronomy or evil?" Violet asked with a forced lightness to her tone. Loid grinned back falsely. "Some could argue that they're the same thing."

When he tried to hand her a mirrored pane, she didn't take it, but employed her own Violet Baudelaire brand of stubbornness and stared him down. Loid shirked away and wouldn't look at her for more than a couple of seconds. "I'm sure that I'll use it for astronomy. As for my adoptive son… I suppose you'd know better than I would. When he says 'a dark crow flying through a pitch black sky' does that mean anything to you?"

She regarded him carefully. "It sounds familiar, but no. I'm not sure what he's planning."

"How familiar are you with the people that took my son?"

Just as Violet was about to make something up, the door burst open, slamming into a very large pane of mirror that was cut to fill in the left half of the eye. It shattered loudly, splintering to the ground as diminutive reflections.

"Oh, fear not, for I have returned to grace you with my presence!" Count Olaf tapped pretentiously into the skylight room and whipped off his sunglasses.

Loid, so usually calm and polite, looked like he was about to scream. His face was bright red, both infuriated and devastated. Violet realized then how important her unanswered question had been and how much Loid cared about his son.

"Count Olaf," Violet said in greeting from where she still hung in the air on Loid's pulley invention. Her tone didn't carry the happy lilt she'd been trying to force on it.

"And how are you, my darling Countess?" The man stepped forward, taking in the sight. Violet had a can of oil tied around her ankle, numerous wrenches knotted into her boot laces, a bag of mirror glass at her hip, and nails, screws, and bolts either poked or threaded through the hair ribbon he'd bought her. It was still entwined in one small braid on the left side of her face. Lastly, Count Olaf took in his wife's somber, defeated expression. He didn't like the way his gut clenched in panic at the sight of it.

"And how are you, my darling Countess?" Olaf repeated, stepping closer to the girl. She didn't answer him. His panic increased. "Have you had fun inventing with your father-in-law?"

When she didn't answer him again, Count Olaf dipped his fingers into the oil can and trailed them up the back of Violet's thigh, skimming teasingly into the bunched-up hem of her dress. Violet gasped and her face turned a lovely rose color. The Count almost crowed. She stuttered, "Yes, it was very," she paused, "Enlightening."

Olaf raised his eyebrow and stepped back, a hand splayed on his chest in mock surprise. "Violet Baudelaire," he gasped humorously, "Did you just make a pun?"

Despite herself, Violet laughed and nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loid's shoulders droop a bit. The Count nodded and came the closest thing to a smile she'd ever seen. Quickly, he untied the oil can from Violet's ankle, wondering briefly what a certain insignia would look like there. When Loid had his back turned to gather the mirror he'd shattered, Olaf took his crouched position to his advantage and blew onto the sticky oil. Violet shuddered above him; he watched as gooseflesh sprouted up her legs.

"Now, come on, dear thing," Olaf said proudly, "I've got a surprise for you!" Violet raised an eyebrow at him. Her face was still slightly tinted. "Only if I get my letter."

The man's expression fell slightly, "You mean you still want that?" "Of course I still want it!" The villain rolled his eyes. "Tonight." He promised, "After the surprise."

Violet's resolve took about eight seconds to crumble. It seemed she couldn't elude him like she used to.

"Okay," she sighed, sliding from the pulley and into his waiting arms. He released her gently. "Want to see how the renovations are coming?"

* * *

**Has anyone else noticed that we can now read the first chapter of _Who Could That Be At This Hour?_ It got me eagerly anticipating the October release! (Like I wasn't already!)**

**Also, I learned how to edit! Now I can go back and change some of the mistakes I noticed that made me want to duck in shame. Sorry, everyone. I'll get right on that. ;)**

**Did anyone catch Lemony's "Dead as composers" bit? Mr. Snicket's book _The Composer is Dead_ is actually very freaking delightful, and I encourage anyone who hasn't yet read it to check it out.**

**Ah, it hints in the very first letter in The Beatrice Letters that Lemony embarrassed Beatrice by remarking on her punctuality in front of her friends. If I had done that, and Beatrice had acted embarrassed, I very well might've been embarrassed too, so that's where I was coming from with that. **

**The broken heart example comes from the very beginning of ASoUE number nine, The Carnivorous Carnival.**

**"I'm sorry I was such a disappointment," Is a way that Daniel Handler likes to end some of his interviews promptly following a dramatic exit. I thought it was unique and quirky, so I had to use it somewhere.**

**If some people haven't checked out The Gothic Archies, do that. They worked with Daniel Handler to create a whole album based off of each book from ASoUE and the music is quite awesome.**

**Charlotte's Web, various nursery rhymes, the Daily Punctillio, and various works of Lewis Carroll are used by certain volunteers and villains as codes.**

**Anyway, this AN is longer than this chapter...**

**Please let me know what you think!**


	7. Act Two, Part One: Murderers, Guilt, and

Act Two, Part One: Murderers, Guilt, and Another Root Beer Float

"I will Love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled." –Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

Confusingly, the car ride was neither lovely nor unlovely.

It was quiet and calm and gave the eldest Baudelaire the time she needed to sort out her emotions. The decision to hold the Count's hand had been a conscientious one. He looked surprised at her bold display, but didn't object and returned the gesture just as fervently, fingers laced.

Violet wondered if they'd ever truly talk about this new, strange, oppositional relationship they'd developed. Even she couldn't describe it; couldn't describe why she suddenly found Count Olaf charming or witty or kind. What would her siblings think? What would her _parents_ have thought?

"How's the musical coming along?" Without looking at her, Olaf shrugged. "My Troupe doesn't take much time to read into their scripts. The Rebellious Reunion is probably the most import- er, imperative musical yet." Violet frowned slightly, wondering if he was using his words correctly.

"And why's that?" She asked. For awhile the only sounds were the wheels on gravel and wind whistling between the bullet holes pierced through the trunk. Olaf seemed to struggle with his answer. "There's someone important who will be there. An old theatrical critic, Lemony Snicket. We were old school mates."

"You were in VFD together?" Violet asked in incredulity. When she realized what she'd said, what she'd let on to knowing, it made her want to smack herself. Mr. Snicket had said that they'd both been, or rather still were, in the same mysterious organization, but she wouldn't have guessed that it had been in the same time period or with the same people. Olaf wasn't supposed to know that she knew about VFD. The girl wondered what she'd just gotten herself in to.

Count Olaf's grip tightened on the steering wheel. He stopped rolling his thumb over her cheap ring affectionately. "Yes, we had a code- breaking class together. He was always writing letters to- Wait, what do you know about VFD?" Finally, he looked away from the road to scrutinize her carefully.

"I used your book," Violet lied quickly, "The jar of Medusoid Mycellin was behind _Anagrams: How to Unscramble Them, Unlike Eggs _by Valerie C. Larcay. I didn't get very far. Just the first few pages."

Olaf sighed, looking like he wanted to rub his face in frustration and weariness. "What do you know?" He asked quietly, almost threateningly. "Very little," Violet assured him truthfully. "Just that VFD is a sort of commerce, exchanging ideas and opinions and resources."

Count Olaf didn't look as mad as before. He resumed rolling around her wedding ring. "The less you know about VFD the better." He assured her with a sigh. "It's too much to keep up with. Too many plots and codes and schemes." As an afterthought, he added, "And fires."

"Was-" Violet's throat swelled unexpectedly, almost as if she'd suddenly swallowed a peppermint. The lump in her throat seemed as sharp as fishhooks. The Count braced himself. He knew what was coming. "The fire that killed my parents wasn't an accident was it?"

As they turned on to Olaf's street, he brought their hands to his mouth and kissed the back of hers. Violet had a sudden, wild urge to screech, _"Don't kiss me! Don't distract me with your kisses!"_

"No," Olaf said, "It wasn't." Violet wanted to hit him. She wanted to see him bleed remorse. She wrenched her hand free and glared at him, that fury and loathing resurrected. Her heart began to wail, _"Say no! Please say no! Don't tell me you-!"_

"Was it you?" she hissed. Olaf looked alarmed, wide-eyed and freaked out. He parked the car in the middle of the gravel driveway to stare at her. The renovations were still obscured by an overgrowth of trees.

"No, it was not _me_." He growled. "I wasn't there."

"But you knew about it!" Violet shrieked, ready to take off her crappy ring and throw it in his face.

"Of course I knew about it!" he yelled, throwing his hands into the air before slamming them back onto the steering wheel. He looked like he was trying not to hit her. "And at the time, I wouldn't have stopped it!"

_"Why not?"_ Violet was crying now; silent tears slicked her cheeks, but only made her glare brighter. Olaf's jaw twitched. "Do you remember," he said quietly, like he was sharing a secret, "How I told you that my parents were murdered by a couple of poison darts?"

It took a couple of seconds for Violet to understand. "No," she breathed, "No, no, no, no. They wouldn't. Olaf, if you're-" The man shook his head, "I'm not lying."

Suddenly, Violet remembered the very first night she'd been married to Count Olaf. After she'd cleared the house by throwing up, she'd accused Olaf of being a talented liar. All he'd said in return was, _"Actors must be good liars."_

Remembering the same thing, Count Olaf promised, "I'm not acting either."

Violet felt her stomach flip, wondering if her parents- her beautiful, clever mother and her loving, joking father- had been murderers. "Why would they have…?" Remembering that he was a husband, Olaf reached out tentatively and patted Violet's knee. "There was a schism in VFD. It caused a lot of… hostility."

When she didn't reply, the man ventured tentatively, "Not everyone is either noble or evil, Violet." The girl nodded, wiping her face with the back of her wrists. "I know," she said quietly, looking up to meet his eyes. "I've realized that."

_"About me?"_ Olaf wanted to ask, _"Have you realized that about me, too?"_ Fear of her answer made him hesitate.

"Come on," he told her instead, "Let's go see those renovations."

The sky was bleak and cloudy as they made their way up the rest of the gravel length, not bothering to drive the car. Soon, the very peak of the house had appeared over the tops of the trees. The pair had to peek through gaps to catch a glimpse.

"I had all of these trees planted here also. They were picked up and hauled over here on the backs of homeless miscreants."

"Oh, really?" His lame joke had the desired effect when Violet grinned, "And I don't suppose the miscreants were paid were they?" Olaf shook his head. "Not a penny. Didn't deserve anything. They didn't even give me the right amount of time to laugh at them while they worked. This new forest wasn't even worth it."

Soon, the pair stumbled upon the home, fully visible and empty. "It looks so…skeletal." Violet noted, running her right hand over the smooth, vertical wood. Only the very beginning of the enormous home had been built, like the outline to a sketch. The outline was prominent but the details nonexistent.

"I didn't think you were building an entirely new home." Olaf nodded and slapped a doorframe affectionately. "The roof was caving in, rats considered it a breeding ground, and you puked on the stairs. What else was I supposed to do?" The Count shuddered melodramatically. Violet smiled, her earlier distress almost forgotten.

"Will that be your new Tower?" she asked, nodding to her right where the tallest part of the home branched out. It was a lonely, half-finished thing against the gray-black sky. Olaf nodded, "I'm thinking of using it for my acting Troupe. Natural lighting and all. A glass ceiling."

Violet asked, somewhat hastily, "Will it be used for acting or evil?" Olaf grinned sneakily, "Some could argue they're the same thing." The girl sighed in frustration, too emotionally drained to get truly upset. Olaf rolled the ring under his thumb.

"Violet," Count Olaf said suddenly, as they were walking back to the car, "Does the word 'Sebald' mean anything to you?" She shook her head negatively. "Good."

When they returned to the vehicle, a handful of loose nails and a bent screwdriver clutched in Violet's grip for inventing, Olaf handed her two things. "Your letter and your script. Memorize the song completely. It's really the only thing you have to do. Our debut is the thirteenth of next month."

But Violet had barely heard her husband. She was too busy ripping open Klaus' envelope eagerly, heart pounding with love and longing. She read it four times before letting her eyes drift out the window and onto the swiftly-passed terrain.

She didn't look at the script.

She didn't hold Count Olaf's hand.

* * *

"Violet," Lemony said, glancing up from where he'd been peering intently at her letter, "Does the word 'Sebald' mean anything to you?" The girl sipped a bit of her root beer float before saying, "No! Olaf asked me that, too, but I still don't know!"

Lemony pushed the letter over to her and commanded, "Read it,"

"Violet," the girl wrinkled her nose a bit, feeling the strange sensation of having to say one's own name, "I hope this letter finds you safely and that by now you've taken off Count Olaf's ring. We're being ushered about as I write this. We are supposed to be taken to a place to be 'well educated' and learn; hopefully about noble, un-treacherous things. But what about you? What secrets could you learn? I know that there's no need, but don't let your guard slip. We will be safe, and I trust you will be also, as long as you stay alert. Olaf is despicable. Ring Mr. Poe and explain everything if ever you can. Love, Klaus and Sunny."

Violet finished her letter and looked up at Lemony expectantly. He was swirling his root beer float around with his straw, watching the vanilla bleed and the veins of it sway. "I wouldn't expect you to know this, and I've no idea why your brother does, but your letter, Ms. Baudelaire, is coded."

The girl glanced from the letter and back up to the mysterious man across from her. "Coded?" "Oh, yes. Sebald code."

When Violet didn't do anything, Lemony explained, "It's a VFD code. Look in the very first sentence and circle the word 'ring.'" The eldest Baudelaire did as she was told, eager to learn. Lemony still wasn't looking at her but instead at the book of bats laid flat across the diminutive, sticky table. "Underline the very first word after the word 'ring.' Continue with every eleventh word after, until you reach the word 'ring' again."

About a minute later, Lemony heard Violet set her pen down and pick up the letter. She left fingerprints on the paper from the water on her glass. "We're to learn secrets. Don't trust Olaf."

Lemony finally looked up at her. His stare seemed too piercing, too knowing, far too informed. "Can you follow your brother's advice? Do you trust Count Olaf?"

"You trapped me." Violet stated, voice accusational, but surprised and shocked more than anything.

"I did not trap you. I'm merely assisting you in deciding what to act on." His tone was conversational and blasé, but his words were an accusation of their own; a warning well-heard and succinct. Lemony Snicket had become a double-edged sword, sharp, wicked and unyielding. Violet stood, taking her root beer float with her.

"I do trust Count Olaf, Mr. Snicket, but I also trust you and Klaus and Sunny. Now, I still have raspberries to purchase and you've a meeting or other volunteer work to attend to. Don't think I didn't see that woman walk by and drop a note in your lap. Thank you very much for the root beer float and for teaching me Sebald code. I believe I'll see you at The Rebellious Reunion."

When he only nodded at her formally, Violet stated without knowledge that the man before her often said the same in parting as well, "I'm sorry I was such a disappointment."

* * *

His Countess found him later that evening peering over a chart of the Mortmain Mountains and the Stricken Stream, and sitting at his desk in their bedroom. She wore the same expression that he'd found her sporting in the skylight room yesterday- sullen, defeated.

Before he could say anything, Violet came to stand next to him, shoulders knotted, fists clenched together, eyes defiant but oh-so-very guilty. He wanted to kiss the guilt right off her face, kiss her until she forgot her troubles, just _kiss her._

Violet asked Count Olaf quietly, brokenly, "May I have a hug?"

He'd take what he could get.

* * *

**Valeric C. Larcay is an anagram of my pen name. I didn't want to think too hard of a character that could've written and published such a thing to both sides of the schisms, pre- or post. So I didn't.**

**There is considerable evidence that Beatrice, Bertrand, and Lemony did murder Count Olaf's parents with some poison darts. I'm not sure where I confirmed it, (_The Unauthorized Autobiography_, maybe?) but I do remember that Olaf mentions it in _The End_, however briefly.**

**Learning Sebald code might be fun for later Acts, just wait until we get to The Rebellious Reunion!**

**When Violet mentions the lady that walked by Lemony and dropped him a note, it was my own little way of commending _Who Could That Be At This Hour?._**

**Please let me know what you think!**


	8. Act Two, Part Two: Lingerie, Questions,

Act Two, Part Two: Lingerie, Questions, and Denouncements

"I will Love you until every fire is extinguished and every home is rebuilt from the most susceptible of woods." –Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

Count Olaf scowled at his orphan from where he was on his bed, previously staring out of the Queequeg window.

Violet Baudelaire was sitting at _his_ desk, reading _his_ script and drinking _his_ tea. She was muttering to herself, testing out the tune to her song. "I'll trade fear of all that I could lose for every moment…"

She looked up to her husband suddenly, a finger on her packet pointing at something he couldn't see. Her eyes were open and intent and complicated and dark. "Olaf, which part is more prominent in _moment_? _Mo_-ment or mo-_ment_?"

He smirked and continued doodling from breath fog on the window. It was too dark outside to see much of anything anyway. He told her slyly, "It's understandable you wouldn't know. It's not like orphans can learn."

Violet grinned at him but he merely returned a blank face, watching her carefully, checking the corners of those lips to find a tightness that proved the gesture false. It was the first time one of them had brought up being an orphan or parents in any roundabout way since the renovations visit a little over a week ago. She only muttered comically, "Says the orphan."

Olaf stood and stretched, joints snapping in the process. If he stood on his tiptoes, his long fingers could only _just_ brush the pale ceiling. "It's _mo_-ment." Violet nodded, and the hair pulled back into her old ribbon swayed. "That's what I thought…For every _mo_-ment…"

The man tapped up to the desk, one hand behind his back and another sneaky grin atop his face. His eyes were shining, Violet realized. That couldn't be good. "Hey, Countess," he said, voice rich with amusement. "You really shouldn't wear the same dress to sleep in every night, so I took it upon myself to find some appropriate…sleepwear."

As innocently as possible, Olaf pulled from behind his back a black, lacey lingerie top. The silk material rippled as he presented it to her.

For the second time, Violet lost control of her breathing and coughed tea all over the Count's desk. "You-" she sputtered, face burning brighter than ever. "You can't expect me to wear that!" Olaf fingered the lace hem of it appreciatively. "It even came with a pair of matching underwear! You can wear it forever!"

Violet smeared away tea from her script, blurring the ink. "It's barely legal for me to even wear that _around_ you!"

Count Olaf rolled his eyes and held up his left hand where his silver wedding ring was prominently displayed. He said without saying it, "We're married. I obviously don't care about the law."

"Oh, right. I forgot you're Count Olaf- you break every law possible and flaunt it." She jeered half-heartedly, still eyeing the lingerie. The man scowled and said, "Wear it or I'll steal your fortune."

Violet crossed her arms and stared at him. She said determinedly, "You already did that and I'm still not wearing it."

It took Olaf an intense staring contest to admit defeat. He huffed and threw the thing onto the floor. Neither of them knew it, but both of them were thinking the exact same thing: _Maybe someday._

"How did I know you wouldn't wear it?" He muttered and threw a bundle of cloth over her script. Violet grabbed the bundle and unwound it, fingers sliding appreciatively over the cotton material. "Normal pajamas," she said, standing and holding them against her person.

Olaf eyed her speculatively. "Yes, but they're pink. If you weren't going to wear that for me," He waved to the puddle of black silk on the floor. "Then I had to punish you somehow."

Violet nodded, mock serious as she made her way to the bathroom. "Oh, yes. Very terrible punishment, Count Olaf. I actually hate pajamas. Don't make me wear them."

With an eye roll, he shut the door behind her. He heard the click of a lock and changed clothes quickly. "There's still time to change into the lingerie, orphan." Her laugh was his only response.

As Violet stepped out of the bathroom, she folded up her dress and threw it on top of her husband's clearly unfolded pile. Olaf was already in bed, sitting up and drawing on the window again. Despite all of the informalities, the sight made Violet's blood run icy, throb in her fingers and the backs of her kneecaps.

"Yes," he said with a grin, "It's the first time we've- well, you've- ever made the actual decision of sleeping in the same bed! All of the other times you were either asleep or pretending to be…" He waved a hand to her and then himself, "So, come into my arms, my lovely Countess!"

She hesitated, eyeing the lingerie on the floor.

Olaf snorted, "I told you, orphan. I won't deflower you." Violet stared at him skeptically. "I promise. On my career as an actor and on my devilishly good looks." That did it. Violet knew that Olaf could worm his way out of swearing atop his acting career, but not on his looks. The man was far too egotistical.

She was in his arms in seconds.

"You know," Count Olaf said conversationally as he let her hair out of its ribbon. "For an orphan you're a very good cuddler. Violet huffed against his chest. "Being an orphan has nothing to do with cuddling." Olaf began combing his fingers gently through her hair. Violet sighed, beginning to relax. It was thrilling being this close to the Count and not having to blame it on some half-asleep mistake. The epiphany that she'd been waiting all day for this didn't seem to make her as guilty as usual.

"Being an orphan has everything to do with it. You've been deprived." He said with a joking, put-upon sigh. "I guess I'll just have to make up for it." Violet rested her chin against his chest and smiled up at him. "I guess you will."

He didn't let it show, he had far too many years of acting up his sleeve, but her reaction both confused and thrilled him. Olaf had expected Violet to say something like, _"Eew."_ Or _"Don't touch me."_ Or even, _"Maybe if you bring back my bookworm and my monkey,"_ but to just go with it? To blatantly agree that he needed to act like the tentative husband he was? Unthinkable.

Violet had agreed with him and that made Count Olaf want to smile _for_ her; _because_ of her.

"Guess what?" she asked him playfully. He resumed running a hand through her hair. He hadn't realized he'd stopped. "And what is it now, dear thing?" he smirked.

Violet tried to imitate his eyebrow raise and declared proudly, "You don't scare me anymore." Olaf scowled and tugged on a strand of hair. "Oh, I don't? Are you sure? That's probably not the wisest decision."

"Well," she said, leaning into his hand. "You haven't forced me to do anything! The most I've had to do was get glass and raspberries." Olaf nodded, mock serious. "I see, so what you're saying is that I should make you do more work? Sali could teach you to make French food. Loid could invent something with you. I could have you try to paste back together all of the artwork I burned in the yard."

Violet rolled her eyes. "I'm fine reading and going out to buy things for French food and occasionally inventing with someone else." Olaf stopped playing with her hair, "Then what are you trying to tell me?"

Before Violet could answer him, Olaf flipped her onto her back, flat against the mattress. He leaned over her and watched as a blush crept up her neck; bled into her cheeks. Mouth inches from her neck, he asked her quietly, "You think you're not scared of me, Violet Baudelaire?"

He kissed the side of her neck twice, slowly, and reveled in the gasp it elicited. "If you think yourself fearless…" Three more kisses, a tiny bite to her ear, "Then why do you still think me the villain?"

Olaf pulled away to stare at his flustered, red-faced Countess. She had no answer.

"Violet," Count Olaf purred, grasping her shoulders and dragging them both to sit up. She blinked at him, thin fingers wandering to her neck. It felt no different than before, but the skin seemed hypersensitive, aflame.

Nothing could've prepared her for the Count's next question.

"Will you kiss me?" He was completely serious. It unnerved her.

"Uh," she stuttered, watching as her husband remained stoic; a statue discarded for imperfections. In that moment, she wanted to kiss Count Olaf more than anything.

"Yes," the eldest Baudelaire declared, sending a pleasant jolt to the pit of her belly. "I want to," she admitted, threading her fingers through his and toying with a button on his dark cotton pajamas. "Very much. But what if we wait until The Rebellious Reunion?"

_That_ broke the Count's mask. His eyebrow rose and his cheeks hallowed. His eyes shined brightly as he released a shocked, proud laugh. "In front of all those people? Who would've thought the lovely Violet Baudelaire would be such an exhibitionist?"

At that, she blushed. "Well, you do like to flaunt breaking the law as much as possible." Olaf shook his head in wonder, an amused grin paired with shiny, mischievous eyes served as his countenance. He wove his fingers through her hair again, keeping the other hand entwined firmly with hers.

"But you want to? You want to kiss me? Count Olaf- hedonist, arsonist, murderer, captor- you want me?" His tone was rough and suddenly thick. An undercurrent of pleading destroyed the serious tone he was going for.

Boldly, Violet lifted their intertwined hands and kissed his wedding ring. "I do," she stated, dark eyes sliding up to meet deep black ones. "I know you've done evil and wicked things, but what did you tell me a few weeks ago when you were consoling _me_ about _my_ parents?"

Count Olaf winced. He knew where she was going with this. "I said that not everyone is either noble or evil. But, -"

Violet glared at him, face morphing into something as belligerent as a war hero's. "No. Stop talking. You're not just evil, Olaf. You're not only a villain. You can be noble and kind-" Suddenly, he pushed her away and stood, a furious scowl atop his face.

This was what he didn't want to be faced with. Proof that he could be noble. If Violet Baudelaire had been asked a handful of months ago what she thought about the Count, her response would've been as demeaning and lowly as his criminal past, which was very. But now she was preaching his nobility and wanting to remain his Countess. That couldn't be born from malicious actions.

Violet was throwing in his face his desire to be good and noble. She was presenting him with the true intentions behind the song written in Sebald code, behind his invitation to Lemony Snicket.

His wife was declaring his desire for redemption and he hated her for it.

Olaf snatched up their rumpled clothes and flipped open a hidden square in the wall behind his door. He threw the clothes into the laundry chute and stepped away to glare at her. Violet was watching him, wide-eyed and waiting. Her pink cotton pajamas looked strange in the room with red walls, hardwood floors, and dark bed sheets, but overall, the sight of Violet in his bed was a craved one.

"I am not noble! I'm not from the other part of the schism! I start fires! I raise the world volume!" Olaf didn't feel like standing anymore, so he leaned against his bookshelf and ran a hand through his hair. "And I killed your past guardians. No matter how un-scared of me you've become and no matter how confusing our relationship has grown, you can't get rid of those. You can't ignore the fact that I've hurt you; taken everything from you."

Violet took her time composing a reply. She was tracing the fingerprints he had left on the window and comparing the sizes to her own. After awhile she said, "I haven't ignored them. These past few weeks, they've been almost all I can think about. _'Stop thinking of Count Olaf that way'_ I'd tell myself, _'Think of Uncle Monty! Remember Aunt Josephine! Don't cuddle with him and enjoy it!"_ Despite himself, Olaf let loose a smothered grin.

"My consolation for the guilt was the fact that you've _helped_ me. You've _cared_ about me." Sali's accusation from when Olaf had thought she'd left him resounded in the girl's head. _"He's a wreck! He cares about you and you're not even concerned!"_

She pinned him with her stare, a specimen kept for examining. Violet asked him softly, determinedly- she could feel the heightened emotions swirl in a gust amidst the air above them before the words even brushed past her lips- "Do you regret it?"

Count Olaf didn't break eye contact when he stated truthfully, "I do. Not because of them, but because of _you_. Because I hurt _you_." The man had never admitted to being guilty before and now that he had, he discovered he loathed it more than unsolvable codes. The Count's long fingers were clenched around a shelf, shoulders curled, heart pounding bruises against the backs of his ribs. He felt wholly, terrifyingly exposed.

Violet stood and tapped over to her husband, tugging on the wrist of his sleeve. "Then that's good enough for me."

Her honest, forgiving statement made Olaf want to tell her every mistake, every past sin, every fire ever started just to hear her denounce them; to adore him despite them.

Violet said without saying it, _"I will Love you as an orphan loves a home, and as a Count loves the forgiveness of the orphan, and as the orphan loves the Count's nobility, and as they both like to watch as, for once, everything goes right."_

"Now, come on." She tugged at his wrist and led him to the bed. "We've got a musical to rest up for." The man sighed affectionately and rolled his eyes at her insistence. "Alright, alright. Do you remember your lines?"

Violet nodded with a sly grin. "I do. Now come give me a cuddle."

* * *

**Okay, guys, very sorry this has taken so long to get out. I've been on vacation and also lost my flash drive with the last five years worth of all of my writing, including the Violaf goodness I hadn't posted. There's a possibility that it may be in another state... So, I've been in a pretty intense state of mourning and Violaf just wouldn't come to me as well. I apologize most sincerely. **

**Please let me know what you think and show me a little love!**


	9. Act Two, Part Three: The Rebellious

**Okay, fellow volunteers, listen up! **

**The only song we see sang in _The Rebellious Reunion_ is shamelessly based off of Matt Hammit's, _All of Me_. So if the lyrics sound a bit strange together, blame Sebald code and Matt Hammit. And me.**

**But it might be fun to listen to and compare the two songs...Anyway...**

**To solve the Sebald code within this, you must understand some things:**

**The coded phrases themselves are in bold.**

**We're only doing every eleventh word. There's no beginning word to circle here, just every eleventh word in bold. (Because sometimes even Lemony Snicket doesn't follow Sebald code correctly.)**

**Also, the last four words within this Sebald code is a question.**

**Now that we've got those ground rules settled, start reading!**

* * *

Act Two, Part Three: The Rebellious Reunion

"I will Love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness in the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged print of the document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written." – Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

"I haven't been this queasy since I saw The Great Unknown!" Count Olaf cried, glancing anxiously into every mirror attached to his normal actor's mirror. There were several, so he appeared to be a bit more frantic than he was when he peered into them to examine his expression.

Desmond tried to console him, the curved side of a hook patting his shoulder in what tried to be a soothing gesture, but the Count would have none of it. He tugged at his fake, itchy, off-color beard.

"And now my facial hair is itchy! I'm far too perfect to wear this thing! But, I suppose that sacrifices must be made for the good of a production. But I'm still nervous _and_ itchy!"

Desmond stopped patting the Count as a white-faced woman caught Olaf's eye in a mirror and winked at him. The man's scowl deepened.

"But, boss," Desmond said, glancing around backstage for any worthy distraction. "You've never been nervous before."

Count Olaf sighed dramatically and stood, rolling around his shoulders. He hadn't seen his Countess in awhile, not after she'd been dragged off by Esme and the white-faced women for a costume fitting. Her absence was making him nervous, her appearance on stage was making him nervous, their impending kiss was thrilling him, and Lemony Snicket's reaction was a terrifying, daunting thought.

"Well, I've never looked this horrible before!" Olaf said weakly, tugging at his false, wooly beard. Desmond glanced around to check for eavesdroppers and leaned in close to the man. He whispered, one hook pressed against his cheek, "Is it 'cause Lemony Snicket's 'ere?"

"Bah!" Count Olaf cried, throwing his hands around and almost slapping a freshly make-upped bald man. He hissed at Desmond, "How did you know he was here?"

He backed away a few steps, hooks pressed against his chest, "I let 'im in! I took the tickets, remember?" One blue ticket still fluttered from where it was impaled on his right hook. Olaf ripped it off and threw it to the floor. "If you tell anyone- _anyone-_ that he's here, I'll steal your hooks and force you to write our next production!"

Desmond paled, making the striped scars on his face pop as if fresh. "Alright, boss. Won't tell a soul, I won't." The Count glared at him, eyes unwavering in their authority. "Good. Does anyone else-?"

The man paused when he heard a loathed voice chime, "Darling Olaf!"

He groaned aloud and turned to face his ex-girlfriend as Desmond slipped away unharmed.

Esme Squalor was dresses, as usual, as unlovely as possible. Her hair was in a lopsided knot atop her head, and her outfit was skin tight and as bright yellow as possible. The heels she wore were each black half-circles that, if put together, created a tall circle.

"You look hideous. What're you supposed to be?" Olaf asked, one half of his eyebrow raised in disgust. She pointedly ignored his first statement. "Why, I'm a stage light!"

Esme clicked her heels together so they formed the canned light itself, then threw her hands into the air. Yellow confetti had been sewn onto the wrists of her unpleasant jumpsuit, shimmery against the overhead lights. "Don't I look _dashing_, darling? I hear _dashing_ is an _in_ adjective now!"

Olaf was tired of her annoying chatter. He rubbed his forehead, willing away the headache that craved center stage. "Esme, shut up. Now where is my Countess?"

Learning that she'd been alone with the females of his Troupe had progressively unnerved him. Olaf knew firsthand how aggressive they could be, especially when it came to him. Their loyalty to the Count could be steadfast, unwavering, positively violent in its intensity. Olaf knew that well, he'd relied on it, employed it as a scapegoat on numerous occasions, but when it came to his Countess, the husband was all nerves and questions.

"You mean the orphan? There's no need to call her your Countess. Just because you're married doesn't mean she deserves it." The vile woman stepped closer, wound one neon yellow arm around his neck and pressed their bodies close. She whispered in an attempt to be seductive, "I'll be your Countess, dear thing."

Olaf shoved her away, her joints snapping at the elbows, and spat, "Don't call me dear thing! If I want to call Violet my Countess I will! Don't tell me how I should try to address her, you loathsome, talentless, evil, stupid, pretentious bitch!"

Esme, red-faced with an enveloping rage, went to smack him, but the Count snatched her boney wrist before it could happen. In the silence that followed, they both heard the resounding echo as the civic theatre's stage lights flipped on. Chatter from the audience rose in excitement.

The Count flung her arm away as the rest of the Troupe congregated where the two were directly behind the crimson curtains. Esme stepped away to stand next to the bald man, face still twisted into a sneer that promised repercussions. In a flash, the Count had his wife located, directly behind two white-faced women. They seemed to be shielding her and hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Violet," he said urgently, tapping hastily over to his wife who looked exhausted but otherwise happy to see him. He waved away the surrounding women who complied with suspicious glares. Violet smiled wanly and tugged on his false beard. She chided, "Nice beard."

Olaf ignored her attempted humor and placed the pads of his thumbs under her eyes, trying to rub away the purple. He scowled in concern, "You look dead."

Violet rolled her eyes and put one hand over his, leaning into it. She sighed, "It's the make-up. I think they wanted to make me look undesirable."

Olaf smiled slightly and shook his head, "Never." His Countess smiled genuinely. His heartbeat stuttered, causing the man to wonder how many times that was going to happen before he could get used to it. Damn Violet and her smiles. Manly actors weren't supposed to get mushy at the sight of a mere smile!

She grinned again and told him teasingly, "Careful, people might begin to think you're noble." Count Olaf ignored her, a twinkle in his eyes as if he had just asked, _"Do you happen to have an enormous fortune?" _Instead, he asked, "You ready for that kiss, dear thing?"

To his ultimate surprise, Violet winked at him and said, "Can't wait."

Desmond appeared then and nudged his boss with his shoulder. "Boss, you're on in one minute." The Count turned to his wife, "Know your song?"

She shoved him towards center stage. "Just go. You'll be perfect." Her blue layered dress swished as she quickly hid backstage behind the farthest layer of curtains along with the rest of the Troupe.

Glancing around the empty stage, Olaf sighed and tugged on his beard nervously. There was no going back, no use in messing up his codes now. Lemony Snicket held Olaf's salvation and that petrified him. The man sighed again before pushing aside the curtain, the red velvet soft and slick against his palms. Count Olaf stepped out into the white, hot lights as the crowd silenced itself with excited shushes.

Suddenly, an old memory surfaced of Beatrice Baudelaire, pale and blue as the stage lights reflected off her moth costume and an important hairpin. He had been her co-star in a production called, _The World is Quiet Here_. In the most bottom layer of that memory, Olaf wondered if Lemony was remembering the same.

He grinned falsely at the faceless crowd and took a few courteous steps forward. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "Welcome to _The Rebellious Reunion_ by the genius Al Funcoot. Silence is courteously demanded so that during this performance, the world remains, as we say, quiet. Enjoy the show," With a dramatic flair, he turned and vanished into the curtains as the audience clapped and no doubt admired him from afar.

About half an hour later, Violet Baudelaire was reviewing her song and listening halfheartedly to the progressing musical. She heard Count Olaf say, "Soldiers survived the avalanche?" and immediately perked. Her entrance was coming.

Lemony Snicket sat in the audience employing a Veiled Facial Disguise and clutching his copy of the script tightly. The song title was circled, but the lyrics were strangely absent.

Count Olaf was on stage, a painted mountainous backdrop behind him as he stood with Desmond. The nameless, hook-handed man gasped, "Sir! The soldiers have breached the walls!" The Count's childish reply was, "I don't care!"

A fake bird suddenly dropped from the overhead stage lights and bobbed on a string, a letter taped to its foot. The Count ripped away the letter, taking the faux bird foot with it. He pretended to read the letter and gasped.

"My beloved survived the avalanche I caused to try and take out the enemy, assumed me dead, and, in her mourning, consented to marry a bald-headed suitor? Never!"

The bald man had popped onto stage then, his head almost reflective. "You can't have her, you handsome man!" the bald man cried, whipping out a fake plastic sword. In response to the upcoming duel, Olaf went to grab his sword, which was supposed to be fastened at his hip, only to find that is was missing. In his nervous fervor, he must have forgotten it. Desmond and the bald man both froze. Improvisation was key.

"And who said you could show up in our very mountainous fort anyway?" Desmond tried to demand at the bald man who sputtered uncertainly in response. "Well, no one! I just showed up, brought my wife here and expected to get married and then maybe have a nice dinner, but now I have to fight to the death!"

The two villains were standing too closely to be enemies, and they were both staring at the Count as if he might spontaneously combust.

"Count Olaf," from above the stage lights, the man heard a familiar whisper. Violet peeked over the rails and dropped him his sword which he caught but just barely. His hands were still trembling. If he had listened carefully enough, he would've been able to hear his Countess tap down the metal staircase and return backstage, but he was too busy shouting, "Why thank you, gorgeous, one-legged bird! Aah!"

From there, the man swung his sword with too much vigor at the bald man, almost taking out Desmond when he got in the way.

"You'll never steal my Count- _wife_! She's mine!" With that, Olaf jabbed the man's clearly waiting chest. The shiny-headed villain clutched his stomach, fell to the ground, and rolled off stage. "Oh, you've got me! Is this what dying feels like? Am I dying? Perhaps I'm dead! Dead as a composer!" He was still yelling, even when he continued rolling around backstage, unseen.

Count Olaf and Desmond both sighed in unison. "You did it, boss! Now you can win back the hand of your wife!" His tiny grin seemed strangely genuine. His hooks clicked as he rubbed them together anxiously.

"But," Olaf sighed, and the stage lights flipped from yellow to blue, casting the shine down so that it hollowed his cheeks, turned his eyes sunken. "My wife, she… could decide she doesn't want me. Decide she liked being married to someone else better."

Murmurs of understanding and condolences swept through the crowd and up to the woebegone main character. The Count wanted to gather the whispers of encouragement, fold them gently, and tuck them away into his pockets or even his beard, to examine later.

Gasps of excitement burst forth from the crowd as they pointed beyond the Count, through him, to where Violet was surely weaving in and out of the larger curtains, peeking at him hesitantly. Desmond had already slipped away, unnoticed by many.

The piano started up hesitantly before warming in as a noticeable entrance. Violet, dress dragging with a diminutive sound across the stage, stepped out on to center stage. His back was still turned to her, but he could feel those dark eyes on him, waiting.

The ringing of a bell and the momentary flashing or a red light signified both that the soldiers had breached their fort and the beginning of the song in Sebald code. The light stopped flashing. The beginning bell stopped its symbolic ring. The piano picked up again. Lemony Snicket began to scribble.

Olaf turned to face his Countess where she stood, cerulean lights draped over her shoulders, into the folds of her dress, hallowing out a collar bone. She looked just like her mother. Unlike his hands, Olaf willed his voice not to shake as he began.

"**Afraid to love**

**Something that could break.**

**Could I move on**

**If you were torn away?**

**But I'm so close**

**To places I can't control…"**

He trailed off after his glance to the mountain backdrop where paper soldiers were marching, their little penciled expressions scowling at him. Violet stepped closer, one hand out like she wanted to touch him, to comfort him. She sang boldly, lashes cast in blue down her cheeks,

"**I can't give to you half of our heart**

**And pray it makes you whole…"**

The piano's pace quickened noticeably as the lights switched from blue to red. As Violet circled her husband, he momentarily shielded her from the entire crowd. Count Olaf was the only one she saw, the only one she was even doing this for. She sang genuinely, echoing every word right at him so that he'd understand.

"**You're worth all volunteers.**

**You're worth facing any fears…"**

Her husband stepped closer to her, placed one hand gently on her hip, and took the other in his own clammy one. They began to dance slowly as the sudden march of soldiers grew louder, an omnipresent beat to a steady song. Olaf sang to his wife,

"**Even if all my love**

**Were not enough**

**Enough to mend our broken hearts**

**Giving you broken things, all of me,**

**Is where I'll start."**

They separated to walk to different parts of the stage, each foot tapping to either the piano markings or the ominous march of the approaching soldiers. Violet spun on her heel, blue dress whirling around her ankles, face intent and nervous. She promised,

"**Never will I let sadness**

**Steal you from my arms.**

**And I won't let hate**

**Keep you from my heart.**

**I'll trade fear of all**

**That I could lose,**

**For every moment, -"**

Olaf sang with her then, purposefully looking the other way as the bald man, shirt covered in wrappings and red dye, stepped onto stage directly behind Violet. They sang together.

"**- I'll share with you."**

Just as Olaf turned to see the bald man leap out and press a knife to the girl's throat, two white-faced women dressed as soldiers caught him by his arms and pressed the fake weapon to his own. The crowd remained in stunned silence, save one volunteer's fastidious scribbling and one banker's coughing.

Unknown to anyone in the audience, or even anyone on stage, one adoptive father was staring up at his completed skylight both guiltily and proudly. Unknown to the adoptive father, a crow was flying by with wings a bit sticky from birdpaper. Unknown to both the crow flying through this pitch black night and the codependent father, what the crow held was very, very important.

So when a sugar bowl crashed through part of the thin glass, sending large splinters into the skylight room, Loid shrieked, very frantic definitely.

"Oh, goodness!" he cried, and stepped atop the shattered mirrors, effectively cracking his hard work further, to stare. The white sugar bowl had become entangled in Violet's pulley, much like a swinging pendulum or a long-since-hung skeleton caught in a breeze.

"Sir Loid Rolp Thammock, if you don't get in this car right now we'll have missed the whole show! I want to see if my daughter-in-law can actually act!" Sali was calling from the front door and the husband was hesitant to ignore her.

"Okay, Sali," he called, glancing one last time at the swinging sugar bowl, "Okay."

As Sir Loid Rolp Thammock stepped out of his home, the ivy shivering in the wind, and a group of crows cawing in the trees that lined the road, he noticed one thing that made his stomach quiver and his heart stop painfully.

Green smoke was wafting in from the nearby city, carried in the palms of the wind and in between crow feathers. He couldn't see the blaze from here, but he knew that something had just commenced to catch fire.

"Did you know," he told his wife something he'd heard their son say too many times, "that emerald wood gives way to emerald ash?"

The white-faced women, knives still pressed at Olaf's throat, echoed Violet as she sang.

"**Misfortune brought me to this moment, **

**Though it all shall burn away."**

The bald man went to dig his fake knife even farther into Violet's neck- he saw her flinch and wince. Olaf sang with a brief glare to his henchman before slipping back into character with a pleading look to his once-wife.

"**You're worth all of me, worth**

**All of me**

**But let me recklessly love you**

**Even if I bleed, you-**

**She's worth all of me."**

Getting the hint, the bald man flung Violet to the stage a bit too roughly. In the audience, Lemony Snicket flinched.

The piano music slowed as the song began to end. Violet saw Desmond's hook flash in the left wing behind the curtain and knew what was coming. She sang her line and after it, Count Olaf responded with a gentle croon of his own.

"**No longer black as coal, you're adored now."**

"**You've mended me, suspended me…"**

Suddenly, the lights flipped a hazy yellow again as Desmond ran out and snatched the two women by their clothes and dragged them away. The bald man fled as the two main characters ran to each other, meeting on center stage to embrace tightly.

Olaf pulled back to stare at his wife who stared back with an adoring, ready smile. The piano slowed evermore. Violet sang,

"**Afraid to love something worth so much**

**Could I move on**

**Should your heart take mine and run?"**

The man sang the closing lines as the piano slowed to a stop.

"**I'll trade the fear of**

**The life, ashes, soul**

**That I could lose**

**For my past crimes to be forgiven by you."**

Count Olaf gathered his Countess in his arms and tipped her low, giving her time to whisper, _"No! Nevermind!"_ But that exclamation never came. The only sound was the ringing of the bell and the red flash that signified the song's end.

Violet Baudelaire was steadfast in wanting that kiss, wanting to show everyone under the guise of a musical that this was real and what she wanted. That _he_ was what she wanted.

Taking his time, Olaf bent to kiss her gently, but the orphan was having none of it.

Code completed and bewilderingly read, Lemony knew what was about to happen and stood. He shouted, "Violet, _no_!" as demanding as any paternal figure could be. But Lemony Snicket was too late, just like he always seemed to be.

Violet had wrapped her arms around the Count's neck and pressed his unsuspecting mouth to hers. Their first kiss, under the hot theatre lights and in front of all of these people who thought it was just a musical, melted her bones, turned her brain useless and made her heartbeat accelerate, intense, almost too much to handle. She didn't want to stop, and the one thought that actually made its way through her mushy brain was, _So this is what kissing's like!_

The sight made Lemony sick, the note was confusing, and the whole situation terrified him as realtors terrified Aunt Josephine and as harpoons terrify hotel founders.

Abruptly, he stood and ran out of the civic theatre only to be greeted with a face full of thick, green smoke. Terror increased as Mr. Snicket dashed down some alleyways, over some streets, and through occupied backyards.

Just as the musical was ending and a blushing orphan was insisting backstage, "Mr. Poe, it was just a stage kiss!" the older volunteer saw his workplace, The Rhetorical Building, ninth dreariest buildings in the city, flickering with fire and green smoke.

"Did you know," The man murmured to no one a phrase that had become almost ritualistic, "That emerald wood gives way to emerald ash?"

With no other preparation, Lemony Snicket darted inside, intent on locating his thirteenth floor office.

* * *

**"I haven't been this queasy since I saw The Great Unknown!" Is a reference to both _The Grim Grotto_ and _The End_.**

**"My beloved survived the avalanche I caused to try and take out the enemy, assumed me dead, and, in her mourning, consented to marry a bald-headed suitor? Never!" This is a paraphrased quote from some behind-the-scenes takes from the ASOUE DVD. **

**It's strange that I keep writing songfics because usually I don't like them. Let me know if I should drop them.**

**Al Funcoot is an anagram for Count Olaf, as I have previously mentioned.**

**Beatrice was in a play called _The World Is Quiet Here_ with Count Olaf. And a hatpin is a very important part of her disguise as mentioned in _The Beatrice Letters_. Have I mentioned that book enough yet? (smiles)**

**Lemony Snicket does in fact work in a building called The Rhetorical Building. It has been described as one of the ninth dreariest buildings in the city. His office was on the thirteenth floor, and above him, at least for a short while, was Beatrice Snicket.**

**Oh, also, there were some foul-ish words in this Act that may not show up once I publish it. If they don't, you have my sincerest apologies in not being able to view them. Just use your imagination, I'm sure the gaps could be filled.**

**Please let me know what you think!**


	10. Act Two, Part Four:Vessels, Friends,

Act Two, Part Four: Vessels, Friends, and Emerald Ash

"I will Love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all of the secrets have gone gasping into the world." –Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

"Count Olaf," Mr. Poe was waddling around backstage, pronouncing the Count's name wrong, and waving his fat little hands around to try and get some attention. The backstage lights snagged on his glasses and cast a shine down his face making him look sickly, distorted. "Count Olaf!"

But the Count was too wrapped up in his Countess to care. He asked with a smirk, "So, how was that kiss, orphan?"

Violet grinned and tugged on his fake beard affectionately. "Perfect. It was perfect. You're perfect." Olaf grinned down at her, feeling his heart constrict and his breath catch.

"How do you feel?" She asked quickly, a bit embarrassed by her immediate gushing. The Count took a step back, almost bumping into the annoying banker and crowed, "I'm happier than a pig eating bacon! I'm tickled pinker than a sunburnt Caucasian! I'm in higher spirits than a brand-new graveyard! I'm so happy-go-lucky that lucky and happy people are going to beat me with sticks out of pure, unbridled jealousy!"

His pure, adoring grin made her want to kiss him again until neither of them could breathe, to find out what exactly it was about having a husband, or a lover, or a secret that made it so precious and impossible to let go of. Violet wanted to know the tug that made heartsick ex-lovers mourn. The fact that she could earn that knowledge willingly through this man that denounced his every evil act, every slippery made-up moral, just for her made Violet eager and sure. In that moment, she was electric and ready to take on the whole quiet world.

"Count Olaf!" Mr. Poe tried again, but realizing that his endeavors were in vain, rushed over to the eldest Baudelaire orphan. "Violet," Mr. Poe grabbed her arm and tugged until she looked at him. "Just because you played his wife in one musical, _Violet_, does not mean that you can kiss your legal guardian on stage!" Mr. Poe sputtered, "Or anyplace else for that matter!"

Violet glanced up warily at her husband who looked ready to defend their strange relationship to any who asked, well-wishers or not. She blushed, feeling the veins in her neck and cheeks swell with heat.

"Mr. Poe," she insisted, "It was just a stage kiss!"

The banker's coughs slowed and stopped just as quickly as they appeared. "A… What's a stage kiss?" He asked. Count Olaf looked like he was trying very hard not to insult the man's lack of theatrical knowledge.

"It's a fake kiss." The Count stated flatly, "Used by the most fickle and pretentious of actors and as a scapegoat for the most cunning and quick-thinking of the illegally wed."

Mr. Poe squinted in confusion while Violet tried hard not to laugh. "Oh." The banker said, polishing his glasses as a distraction. "Alright. As long as it was a fake kiss and not a real one, which, had that been the case, I'd have been forced to, -"

"Olaf!" A familiar voice shrieked. Esme stormed out of the back dressing rooms with a glare. She'd changed outfits and had way too much make-up on. From the tacky stage light, she had morphed into a sexy, too-tight green dress. Her black heels clicked like popping embers as she stomped towards them. On her nails she wore red glitter and around her neck, dipping into her unimpressive cleavage, was the VFD eye. The metal of it had been dyed to match the colors of fire. Her blue eyes glittered with an unfamiliar rage.

"Er, I'll just be going then. Say hello to Klaus and Sunny for me, will you Violet? I enjoyed the show, lovely show…" With that, Mr. Poe ducked onto stage where his sister, Eleanora was waiting to tell him of the former theatrical critic she'd seen.

"How could you, _how could you?"_ Esme shrieked, pointing a finger right in Violet's face. "You dumped me for her? You want the orphan?"

Around them gathered the rest of the Troupe, gawking and placing bets on the probability of a catfight and who would win. Desmond was clicking his hooks together nervously, secretly cheering on the newest Countess, while the two women next to him were cheering on Esme.

Again, Count Olaf was in a bit of a fix. He could accept Violet as his Countess in front of his Troupe and possibly lose all of their respect, their loyalty, their unyielding devotion. Or, he could denounce her; feel the smirk glide onto Esme's face as a tangible gesture of smug success and watch as Violet's face would fall, humiliated, hurt and confused- as mournful as an ex-lover's. Count Olaf had a choice to make, and quickly.

"Of course I want her!" Olaf said fiercely, snatching for his wife's hand like a possession jeopardized. She grabbed it reflexively. "How could I not? Look at her!"

The man waved a hand to his Countess who blushed as Esme's unimpressed sneer looked her over.

"Violet has been kind and lovely and noble and- and perfect! She adores me, Esme, me! Count Olaf: hedonist, arsonist, murderer, she wants me! And I can tell you honestly, she'll always mean more to me than you."

Esme looked affronted, cheeks flaming, bosom heaving, as she nearly snorted in rage. "Fine!" she shrieked, clutching at the flaming eye necklace as if it were some sort of promise, unchangeable, omnipresent. "You can wax noble all you want with your newest plaything, but I know you, Olaf!"

She stabbed him roughly in the chest with one glittery finger and leaned in close enough so that he could smell her new perfume, heavy and spicy and sharp. "You'll just play the renounced villain until it suits you! Then you'll run back to your secrets, eyes, schisms and theft!"

Esme Squalor, city's sixth most important financial advisor, smiled sweetly at the couple, a parody of a well-wisher. "And I'll be awaiting your return."

She sneered at the Troupe and strutted towards the back exit where a frantic adoptive father burst in and smacked her with the door. He rushed in, oblivious, while the Esme ducked away with a bent nose, bloody palms, and slashed pride.

"Oh, goodness!" Loid cried, stumbling into the backstage landing. "Oh, Olaf, it's happened! Your skylight- the crow- nighttime- _Aah_!" Loid had bumped into the bald man who had obviously scared him, for the father yelped and retreated.

"Don't speak of it!" Count Olaf hissed and turned to face his Troupe, suddenly not caring if they left him. "Go away," he snapped, "Leave. Go home."

Begrudgingly, they complied, uneager to leave the obviously unfolding drama, but exhausted nonetheless. For some reason Desmond looked extremely sad as he shuffled away.

Finally alone, Count Olaf rushed over to his father and asked, "It's happened? It's arrived?"

"What? What's arrived?" Violet asked, distracted completely as Sali entered through the door her husband had. A puff of green smoke entered behind her, filling the room and quickly as a spark can grow to a flame.

Count Olaf twitched and an emotion very similar to pure terror flickered over his face. It was in that moment that he realized that Lemony Snicket hadn't yet presented himself. And there was only one building around anymore who would burn smoke that color.

"Violet," he grabbed his Countess and tugged her towards his adoptive parents. "Go with Loid and Sali. Dad," Loid actually looked like he was about to burst into tears from both stress and his adoptive son's informal title. "The Rhetorical Building. Follow me there."

With that, Olaf dashed out of the small civic theatre and into the alleyways. "He's cutting through alleyways, over streets, and through occupied backyards! He'll surely beat us there!" Loid said as he ushered his still-coughing wife and confused daughter-in-law outside into his vehicle.

"What is the Rhetorical Building?" Violet asked, shoving a bottle of water at Sali that her husband had procured as they pulled out of the alleyway and sped down the street.

It wasn't hard to tell where the fire was. Ashes, flaky and dark, blotted the sky like sick green bruises. The sight made Violet's stomach drop.

As they pulled up a safe distance away from the fire, the three had just enough time to see Count Olaf: husband, hedonist, son, dart into the flaming building.

"No." Violet and Sali stated in unison, both shocked and wholly unprepared. "No! How could he-? Why?" Sali wailed. Loid seemed to crumble in on himself, shoulders sagging, eyes unseeing. "Um," seemed all he could say, "My son has always been very brave."

"Count Olaf!" Violet sprung free from the vehicle, Sali following closely behind. Fire seared the tears on her cheeks, turned them sticky.

"That's my boy in there." Sali moaned quietly over the crackles of the fire. She came to hug Violet close and clutched her tightly like she wished she could to do her son. "He's my son. He can't…"

With fire searing her face, a broken man in a car behind them, and clutched in the arms of a mourning woman she had thought hated her, Violet Baudelaire wondered if, now, she had truly lost everything.

"How could he? I thought…" Violet started to say, her voice wobbly, unlovely, but untangling all of her emotions to form a real sentence wasn't something she wanted to continue with. Sali just clutched her tighter understanding because sometimes words aren't enough.

"Look!" Loid suddenly boomed as two figures, faceless, shapeless through the green smoke, darted down a crumbling set of stairs and leaned out of a second-story window. The two women clutched each other silently in a shared knot of terror.

The shorter of the two figures lurched and quickly pulled a concealed ladder from the burning, crumbling wall. Once it was out, the two slid down it with a practiced, detached demeanor. They'd slid down fire escape ladders too many times at school for the act to become anything less than second-nature. Once the two figures were down, the ladder quickly caught fire, brighter than the burning Rhetorical Building.

Count Olaf and Lemony Snicket stumbled forward, oval masks atop their faces and strange boxes clutched in their arms. Lemony was the first to fling off his mask and lean against the car, the Count following quickly behind. They both had rings of green soot around their faces. As Sali was fluttering around anxiously asking, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Loid had emerged and was brushing the soot off of both his son and Mr. Snicket, trying to comfort them as best as he could.

"I thought- I didn't know if, -" Violet suddenly felt undeniably angry at the tears that refused to slow down. She exclaimed furiously, "You could've died!"

Olaf's face twisted sympathetically, those glittering black eyes red-rimmed. Instead of answering his wife, he reached out and grabbed her. With one hand on her hip, and one on her face, he kissed her passionately, full of comfort and tenderness and reassurance. It was a brief kiss, but full of the understanding,_ 'I could've lost you, too…'_

Lemony Snicket flinched at the sight and cleared his throat awkwardly. The two separated, but kept one hand threaded, a definite hold on the other.

"I'm glad you're safe, Mr. Snicket." Violet told him, with one green-smudged handprint painted across her cheek. "But why'd you run in? What was so important?"

For a moment, all five of them watched the building burn, trance-like. There were no fire-fighters employed to stop it from spreading. There never had been. Finally, Lemony looked down at the box of letters in his hands, then to the box in her husband's. "My research," he nodded to Olaf's box. "And my letters. Most of which are correspondences between your mother and myself."

Before Violet could reply, Count Olaf stood and stretched. "Mr. Snicket, come stay at my parent's home for tonight. It's not far from here and we have enough room for you." It wasn't a question. Lemony didn't respond.

As the fire burned to the ground, the five entered the car and Violet became almost symbolically wedged between the two former schoolmates. "I'd been sleeping in my office." Lemony admitted, "And I think that saving my life as proven you somewhat trustworthy."

Violet raised her eyebrows at Olaf. "You saved his life?"

The Count shrugged, "I found the emergency masks. They're supposed to keep out snow gnats, but they're used by volunteers and hidden in marked places in buildings that could possibly burn down. I just knew where to find them without having to look."

With that, Violet sighed and rested her head against the seat. Closing her eyes, she tried to kill the image of two men she cared about inside a burning building.

Count Olaf carried his sleeping wife inside as Loid and Sali tended to Lemony and helped him move his small amount of things into a spare bedroom. The Count sighed and stared down at Violet as he carried her past his Theatre and up another set of stairs. The lights cast her spiky lashes down her cheeks, another layer atop his handprint.

The terror on her face when she thought she'd lost him had spoken volumes. Violet cared about him, adored him. She was truly adamant in wanting him and, twistedly, Olaf was thankful that the fire had helped him see that.

"Goodnight, dearest." He whispered to her as he took of her shoes and laid her atop his bed. In response, Violet mumbled unattractively and flipped over, taking up the whole bed. Olaf smirked in amusement and snapped off the lights before closing the door.

Lemony Snicket was waiting for him in the kitchen looking fresh-faced, relatively clean, and sipping a hot cup of star anise tea. He'd brushed all of the soot off of his fire-proof suit.

"So," Lemony said with a sigh as he stared over his cup at the Count. "Judging by your mediocre attempt at Sebald Code," At that, the Count smirked. He knew Lemony would make some perfectionist comment. It amused the Count more than he thought it would. "You adore Violet and are intent on earning forgiveness and becoming noble?"

Olaf nodded, wishing he had something to do with his hands. Lemony said, "I wasn't sure if I believed you. But after the fire… And it's obvious that Violet cares about you a great deal."

When Olaf said nothing, Lemony stated, "You knew she was seeing me." Olaf nodded and said, "After I saw you at the civic theatre, I figured you'd been in contact."

After a thoughtful silence, Olaf admitted, "I thought you'd steal her from me." Lemony grinned genuinely, surprising the man across from him. He said, "Oh, I'd thought about it but she was adamant in staying with you. She trusts you. I'd never have guessed that she was willingly accepting her role as Countess, though."

Olaf shrugged and stood, suddenly feeling the weight of the man's stare on his wedding ring. He held out his hand and ventured, "We were friends once."

Remembering their very early VFD days, Lemony stood and returned the handshake. "Yes," he agreed, "We were friends once." A smile from Olaf shocked Mr. Snicket as he said, "Good. Now come look at this."

It took only a few moments for Count Olaf to disentangle the sugar bowl from Violet's pulley and an even shorter amount of time to hold it in his hands.

When he realized what it was, Lemony gasped, "The Vessel For Disaccharides!"

Olaf nodded and kicked away broken glass and mirror panes so they could sit on the floor with the bowl between them like two children playing with a scattered tea set.

"I've heard," Lemony said as he sat across from Olaf, "That various volunteers have added things to it over the years." Olaf nodded. He'd heard the same. He waited for Lemony to open it and the man complied warily.

The two volunteers gazed at the contents of the sugar bowl, all five of the things jammed tightly together. Lemony was quick to snatch up a note that his Beatrice had written, recognizing the familiar scrawl in an instant.

Olaf unfolded a very large stack of papers and looked over the evidence, recognizing it for what it was. Both of the men admitted in unison, "I… I know what this is."

* * *

** "I'm happier than a pig eating bacon! I'm tickled pinker than a sunburnt Caucasian! I'm in higher spirits than a brand-new graveyard! I'm so happy-go-lucky that lucky and happy people are going to beat me with sticks out of pure, unbridled jealousy!" Is a quote of Count Olaf's from _The Grim Grotto_.**

**I've been watching the ASOUE DVD and I can't help but giggle when I watch it now, is that weird? I'm all, "Hey Violet, hey Olaf, you guys are gunna be in love, right? Because you need renovations, yes? So you'll move to your parents and..." Yeah, I've decided. That's weird. ;)**

**Also, one thing I've always wondered, is that if Josephine and Monty had VFD training with Olaf and knew that the disguises he wore were standard disguises that one learns in VFD then why didn't they notice? Their years of training were staring them in the face and they didn't act cautionary...**

**Has anyone else read the second chapter of _Who Could That Be At This Hour?_ You can find it on tumblr. **

**I've drank an alarming amount of root beer floats since I've started writing this...**


	11. Act Two, Part Five: Collected Contents,

Act Two, Part Five: Collected Contents and Dire Decisions

"I will Love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and now matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this." – Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

When Violet awoke, alone and cold, her immediate reaction was fear. It was an irrational fear, one that really couldn't have been explained. _"Why?"_ she would've snapped at whoever had asked about it, _"There is no why."_

The morning was a dreary and drizzly one, she could tell as she glanced out the Queequeg window. The glance wasn't really to examine the weather, but more to examine the outside world. It was only once Violet had slipped on her husband's robe and padded down the chilly sets of stairs that it hit her: she had expected to see ashes.

When she reached the kitchen, frazzled and oddly tired, Violet shuffled around and dug through the pantry for star anise tea but sadly all that remained was peppermint.

Cold, fearful, and in need of a beverage that wouldn't kill her, Violet Baudelaire padded over to Loid's skylight room. What she saw upon entering wasn't normal.

The room was oddly bright with lamps that should've been placed specifically throughout the house, but were instead sitting atop piles of books and hanging from her pulley obscurely.

On the wall opposite to her were many papers taped up, photographs and charts and burnt letters among them. Her husband was standing, pointing to something on them and speaking to Lemony who sat on the floor with a mug in his hands. He was wearing the beard that Count Olaf had worn for The Rebellious Reunion.

"And you say that this fire was started on a cattle farm right after you were taken away by your ankles and thrown into a long, black car?" Olaf asked and Lemony nodded. Stealing sips from his beverage, the author nodded again. "Yes, on _a charming little cattle farm near a pretty deadly lake_."

Olaf raised one half of his eyebrow at the man on the floor, still oblivious to his wife's entrance. "_Was a very pregnant woman and her husband known as Jake._ Yes, everyone knows you have a theme song."

Lemony grinned at that and swung around a brown paper bag, making the light catch its shadow and throw it across the room. As the shadows passed over Violet, he suddenly noticed her.

"Oh, Violet," Lemony drawled, "Do come and join us for tea and research, I think we're finally getting somewhere." The man had taken off his bowl-shaped hat and the jacket to his suit so he was left in shoes, pinstriped pants, a white shirt and a flowery tie.

Violet shuffled over to sit next to Lemony who handed her a fresh cup of star anise tea. At her bewildered look he stated smugly, "We took all of the good tea and hid it in here for our own consumption. We've been reheating it every twenty minutes or so. Isn't that right, Countie?"

At his vile nickname, the Count spun around and glared halfheartedly at the man, suddenly distracted from his concerning a Valorous Farms Dairy. "Do _not_ call me that! Oh, good morning, Violet."

Again distracted, Olaf dropped his pen and maneuvered around glass bits, sugar bowl contents, and an author to get to her. She stood eagerly and hugged her husband, sliding easily into his arms. As she rested her head on his chest and clutched Olaf tightly, her fear dissolved into the air in the same way carbonation dissolves from root beer floats.

"Good morning, Countie." Violet grinned, unexpectedly giddy. Olaf groaned comically and stepped away to smile at his Countess, then at his newly- refriended author friend. "Look at what you've started." Lemony held his hands up in a mock innocent gesture.

"Don't call me that, Violet, I loathe it more than Esme Squalor. Just-," Lemony interrupted, smiling mischievously. "Or you could call him that all the time. I bet he wouldn't mind if it were you."

The girl smirked and Olaf shook his head negatively, "No, I'd still hate it."

Violet shrugged, happy to see that the two of them were getting along relatively well. Looking at her husband, Violet recalled when she first met Loid and how he resembled what she thought Count Olaf would look like happy. He was beginning to resemble his adoptive father more than ever.

Adoring the happy look on his wife's face, Olaf leaned down to kiss her, which Violet happily leaned in to meet. The kissing was still new and sent a happy, thrilled jolt through Violet's stomach, made her heart expand and want to pop.

"Good morning." She muttered as they pulled away, causing Olaf to smirk, "You already said that." Violet blushed and shrugged, wrapping the man's robe around her shoulders even tighter before returning to sit with Lemony. He handed her a hot cup of tea which she took gratefully.

"So what have you been working on?" She asked. Lemony lurched forward to snatch up a plain white sugar bowl and waved to her husband for explanation.

"This sugar bowl has grown to be very important to VFD because of all the supposed secrets that both volunteers and villains would hide in it and pass on to each other. But at a certain tea party hosted by Esme Squalor, _someone_-" Olaf eyed Lemony who pretended to be studying the glass bits on the floor. "-took the sugar bowl and hid it."

Violet smiled and nudged Lemony with her shoulder conspiratorially. "You took the sugar bowl?" she teased but the man shook his head. "Actually, it was your mother. She was very eager to have it and hide it safely until it needed passing on again to another volunteer. She never really told me what she needed it for, but I trust she had her reasons…"

With that, Olaf took over and sat across from them, the sugar bowl in the center.

"But some villains burned down the place that Beatrice hid the bowl,-" Violet interrupted her husband with a light kick on the knee. "Where'd she hide it? Where was supposedly safe enough?"

Olaf tapped her toes, traveling up and back down again. "Well, we did have headquarters in the Valley of Four Drafts. She hid it there, I guessed, and when the place was attacked, someone threw it out a window and into the Stricken Stream." He reached for his map booklet and showed it to her. Violet recognized the familiar patterns of what looked like a game of tic-tac-toe from her first night at Loid and Sali's. Olaf had been studying it before they made their bet.

Count Olaf said, "I've been tracking all of the directions that it could go and sending the VFD crows out to search them for me. They finally found it yesterday and it arrived last night during our performance."

Lemony perked up after that, splashing a bit of his tea on the floor, and stated, "On first inspection we thought that there were only five objects contained in the sugar bowl, but apparently there were six."

The author reached out by Olaf and grabbed two small glass jars to present to her. Both lids were chipped and dented, exposing the dark gray tin underneath, but their coats of paint were different entirely. One was neon blue and the other turquoise. Within the blue jar was a neon green paste while, in the other, was a chunky, pale substance.

"Wasabi and horseradish. These, as I'm sure you know, are counteractive against the poison of the Medusoid Mycellium."

Violet shook her head as he handed her the two jars, which clicked together cleanly as they bumped. "I didn't, actually."

Instead of answering her, Lemony gestured to the two condiments and declared,

"_A single spore has such grim power_

_That you may die within the hour._

_Is dilution simple? But of course!_

_Just one small dose of root of horse."_

Ignoring him, Violet set down the jars gently and asked, "What else was there?"

Lemony waved to the wall of papers, photographs, charts and burnt letters. "That is the Snicket File. Or, half of it anyway." Olaf, still tapping on his wife's toes, said, "It has very incriminating information about my past in it. My Troupe and I thought maybe the rest of the Snicket File that's not at Heimlich Hospital was either in the sugar bowl or the last safe place. I wanted it so I could know where it was but I really didn't expect to find it in there." He smiled a bit guiltily and glanced at Lemony. He said, "Imagine my surprise when I find it in the company of Snicket himself."

Lemony smiled halfheartedly back. "You act like I'm the only Snicket mentioned in it. There's Jacques… Kit…"

Olaf flinched and glanced briefly between the two of them. Lemony noticed and said nothing, speculative and suddenly worried about a previously unwanted miserable marriage and the reliability of it.

"And what have you decided to do with the evidence?" Violet asked, oblivious to her husband's flinch. She curled her toes, successfully trapping one of his fingers. Lemony shrugged, "Nothing. I don't plan on doing anything with it. Maybe I'll hide it again." He glanced at Olaf, muddy brown eyes darting up to glance at her husband's preoccupied ones. "We're not sure."

"Oh!" Olaf cried and grinned at his Countess, "We also found a ring that had belonged to the Duchess of Winnipeg, and,-" Here, the Count leaned in close to his wife and raised his eyebrow. He whispered in his Captain Sham voice, "A harpoon!"

"A harpoon?" Violet asked, half confused, half skeptical.

The actor held his expression for a moment longer before cracking and admitting, "No. I was acting. But, we did find this!" From behind his back, Olaf revealed a very small bottle of very black-

"Ink." Lemony stated. "It's ink created by Ink Inc. I once spent an apprenticeship in a small town called Stain'd-by-the-Sea where the ground was purely seashells and stones because it had been an ocean that was drained. There were workers, most in VFD, who worked for Ink Inc. extracting ink from the ground with huge needles. The needles would plunge deep holes into the shell-covered ground and return full of ink. Octopi lived in the holes; that's where the ink comes from. It's famous for making the darkest, most permanent stains."

Olaf handed Violet the bottle and she flipped it around, reading the label, _"Scrub and scrub, but our stains won't fade. –Ink Inc."_

Count Olaf said, recalling a bottle he once had, _"Used by secret organizations worldwide. –Ink Inc."_

Lemony stated, "_The art of darkness brought to light. –Ink Inc."_

Flipping the bottle until it was completely upside down, Violet read another label, _"Extracted locally, shipped globally. –Ink Inc."_

Lemony said one more when Count Olaf shrugged. _"For writing that matters, and other matters. –Ink Inc."_

Violet glanced at Lemony, waiting for him to continue, but when he said nothing, she asked, "Why is this ink so important?"

Lemony answered, "It's the only ink volunteers use. When you first met me, I was carrying a brown paper bag. It was full of ink. I use it in my typewriter," Lemony suddenly winced, "Well, I _did_. But it's used for letters, wedding invitations, theatric promotional posters, anything."

"It can be modified to appear only when in contact with the Medusoid Mycellin." Count Olaf said quietly. He looked exhausted, suddenly, too tired to function. Violet wondered briefly if they'd been here all night. She sipped her tea. It had been cold for a long time.

"And what was the last item?"

The two men glanced at each other warily, silently communicating a shared hesitancy.

"Actually," Lemony said, "It's a note to me from your mother." Violet's stomach dropped. She could feel her tea slosh around unpleasantly. "My mother…" She could almost smell her perfume.

"_L,"_ Violet read as Lemony handed her the note. _"In case of death. –B."_

Olaf stared at the author and grumbled, "That's it?"

"If it's any help," Lemony groaned as he stood and stretched. "I have no idea what it means, but I do have a plan."

Smelling food, the couple followed suit and stood. Violet grabbed her mug. Olaf left his on the floor.

"My plan is that we have two choices. We can find out what my darling Beatrice meant and act on it, or we find out what she meant and we don't. Instead," Lemony tugged on the false beard that had been the Count's and stated, "Instead, we could take you to the last safe place to denounce your wicked past in front of all of VFD and become a volunteer, not a villain. Probably, they'll understand. Now, I'm off to eat breakfast. Hopefully it's not poisoned."

With that, Lemony Snicket exited the skylight room, leaving behind a wife to comfort a suddenly enraged, distressed, and terrified husband.

* * *

**_"On a charming little cattle farm, near a pretty deadly lake, was a very pregnant woman and her husband known as Jake."_ Are lyrics from the song, The Little Snicket Lad.**

**"_A single spore has such grim power_**

**_That you may die within the hour._**

**_Is dilution simple? But of course!_**

**_Just one small dose of root of horse." _This is the poem used to describe the Medusoid Mycellin in_ The Grim Grotto_.**

**I couldn't help myself. I had to include something from the new series. So, here we are with Ink Inc.'s ink. All of the quotes about it are real and written by Mr. Snicket.**

**Obviously no one knows what's actually in the sugar bowl, but a girl can speculate.**

**Let me know what you think!**


	12. Act Two, Part Six: The Frantic Father

Act Two, Part Six: The Frantic Father and the Ruined Roots

"I will Love you if I never see you again, and I will Love you if I see you every Tuesday." -Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

Breakfast, as usual, was both lovely and unlovely.

Loid was too animated, obviously distressed about his wife's sudden ailment, but trying his best to hide it. The man's hands were trembling so the silverware he brought over rattled against the cup in which it was carried. Loid flinched almost every time someone spoke and kept glancing at the stairwell as if it might suddenly collapse to meet the checkered floor.

Lemony wasn't taking the adoptive father's worry very seriously. He was far too intent on asking questions, all of them the wrong ones to ask.

"Is there a library in this home?" the author asked, watching as Loid nodded and tried to get a forkful of eggs to his mouth. His grip was too quivery for eating to be an accomplishable task.

"Y-Yes, right next to my son's theatre on the second floor. You'll find it. We have books all around the house of course but-," Everyone watched with mixed emotions as a speared piece of fruit slipped off of the man's fork and into his lap. Loid gazed at the fruit distantly, sadly, as if wondering how the life of a raspberry works and if it's lonely, not as if the fruit may have been staining his pale trousers.

Uncaring, Lemony cried, "Good! Because without libraries we'd be D-U-M! We wouldn't know our elbows from our bums!"

Count Olaf was sulking across the table, flipping around his silverware and not eating his food, not even the raspberries. He looked incredibly nervous with his eyebrow furrowed, his mouth slumping in a thin frown.

Despite his understandable nerves, all Violet could think about was how good he looked.

Her husband's broad shoulders were hunched and his elbows were on the table, but his long fingers were threaded to hold up his chin. His black eyes were intent on some idea none of them could see. Smudges from make-up for The Rebellious Reunion was still under his eyes, making the tired bags pop.

Violet loved remembering, then, that he was _hers_. She, Violet Baudelaire, orphan, sister, inventor, had gained his affections despite their past situations.

Gently, she reached out the place her hand on his cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing over a cheekbone. Immediately, Count Olaf's façade fell away. He sighed, reaching out to hold her hand there almost desperately. As he glanced at his wife then, his eyes were incredibly grateful. The look made her heart squeeze in sympathy, sending a jolt of cold to all her joints. Her heart wanted to tell him then, _"I care about you __**so much**__."_

While the two were lost in their moment tacitly bouncing emotions back and forth, Lemony stated sadly, "Never underestimate the power of human touch."

Loid responded through a mouthful of carefully-handled food, "Never have."

With that sudden epiphany, the adoptive father stood, not bothering to take his plate to the sink. His face was pale and determined, a renewed hope shining atop his brown eyes.

"Maybe that's what Sali needs. Maybe if I just comfort her like that… She'll need me. She'll get better." Without any farewell except a pat on Violet's head, the husband padded up the blue stairwell, his footsteps a trackable chart of progress.

Soon after Loid's departure Lemony left, muttering something about a man named Vladimir Nobokov and a library inspection. Violet quickly set the left over plates in the sink, leaving them for someone to clean eventually.

After a few moments of silence, Count Olaf sighed and stood, running his hands through his hair. "I think everyone's decided today's an eventful day." He said as she turned to face him, leaning against the counter.

"I think so. Did you stay up all night with the-" For a reason she couldn't identify, Violet didn't want to say 'sugar bowl.' Olaf nodded anyway. "I did."

With a flourish, her husband stood and rushed towards the blue stairwell, saying, "I'm going to check on Lemony and make sure he hasn't gotten sidetracked inside my theatre…"

Violet sighed, feeling the weight of a headache begin to press against her skull. Pulling her husband's robe tighter around her thin shoulders, Violet climbed up the stairs feeling much the same as she had when she'd descended them this morning: cold, in need of something that wouldn't kill her, and uncertain of the future.

As she passed the library, she could hear Lemony muttering to himself.

"_Nabokov_." He said to no one, "It's pronounced Nabokov. Na-bo-kov."

Violet ignored him and tapped up one more flight of stairs until she reached their bedroom. No lights were on and only an undersized ray of light shone through the gap in the door, one tiny sliver that rippled across the hardwood. As she approached, the girl knew that the open door was her invitation.

"Darling, dearest, amazing, talented, handsome, delicious, handsome, talented husband…" Violet crooned comically as she slipped into their bedroom. The floor was creaky under her bare feet; every shade in the room was a pale washout of its original color. The smell of rain seeped in through the Queequeg window.

Her husband groaned wordlessly in response.

He was lying across their bed awkwardly, his face in the comforter, his feet hanging off the side. The dark blue VFD blanket was crinkled under him, wrinkles gouged by light bleeding in from the submarine window.

"Careful," His voice was muffled, warped by blankets and rain, "People will begin to think you like me."

Violet grinned and stepped forward to flop down next to him. She mirrored his awkward position. Olaf didn't turn to face her.

"They'd be correct." She said. Without pausing to let him respond, Violet reached out to run her hands through his hair. She started at the nape of his neck and worked her way up, tugging gently at tufts to stick them straight up.

Exactly like before, Olaf sighed. His shoulders lost tension he hadn't realized was there. After a few minutes of letting Violet play with his hair and move it to however she half-heartedly styled it, he turned to face her. His expression was thankful but worry still crinkled the lines near his eyes.

"I'm glad I have you." Count Olaf admitted quietly. His tone was uncharacteristically open. Instead of showing her surprise, Violet moved her fingers to his face to trace under his eyes.

"Are you?" She asked distantly, moving to trace his cheekbones. Olaf blinked and watched her until she met his eyes, wide brown flickering to meet dearly black.

"I am. Unimaginably thankful. But I'm… scared. I'm scared, now, of losing you. Lemony's right, Violet. If I'm changing morally from a villain to a volunteer, they should know. They should definitely know. They may decide I'm not worth it and throw me in jail. They could try to convince you I'm a terrible villain- that I _still am_."

His gaze flickered as she brushed hesitantly over his eyelashes. A bolt of worry shot straight through Violet's core, nearly crippling.

"I don't think they'd understand _us_, either." The girl noted quietly, shooting her husband a significant look.

Trying to keep her from worrying, Count Olaf grinned. "And what are we, Violet? Friends? Surely we're more. Lovers? Not quite yet…" He raised his eyebrow at her and she smiled, eyes shining.

Violet scooted closer to the Count and curled her body against his side. Grinning, she said, "Well, we are married, so you can't be my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend!" Olaf crowed, a disgusted sneer atop his face. "That juvenile term could never be used for someone as talented or as handsome as I am!"

Violet smirked. "Or as old."

Despite himself, the man laughed in genuine surprise and adoration. "Watch yourself, Violet! I- You- Oh, damn it all!"

He leaned forward suddenly and kissed the words from her mouth; delighting in the surprised gasp she made before eagerly attempting to discover his mouth.

The kiss lasted longer than usual, each separating for moments to take in air before continuing. Olaf had an elbow propped on either side of her, their chests pressed together enough to feel the other breathe.

The whole time the kiss elongated and lengthened, Violet was struck with self-conscious uncertainty. When she could actually begin to think words, the eldest Baudelaire kept wondering, Where do I put my hands?!

Sensing his wife's paralytic hesitancy, Olaf pulled away to stare down at her with an amused grin. Both of their lips were swollen and red; their breathing labored and heavy. Count Olaf tapped his long fingers along one of her hips and pecked her once on the nose to jolt her from her inanimation.

"You're so…" Olaf started, searching for a word as he rolled off of her and onto his back. His arm came under her shoulders and held her close as the girl dragged over a couple of pillows. Finally, once they were propped up against the red wall, her head on his chest, the Count said, "…new."

"New?" Violet asked, wondering if she was being insulted. With thin fingers she twirled one of the Count's buttons, imagining what it would feel like to slip each one from its catch.

"With kissing. With a… husband-boyfriend. With all of it. With all of _me_." His last sentence reminded her of their song from The Rebellious Reunion. She resisted the urge to start humming.

"That's because I _am_. You expect me to be an expert?" A bit angry at what she thought he was implying, Violet sat up to watch him with a raised eyebrow. Olaf grinned, one lip quirking higher than the other, and shook his head.

"No, but it's endearing. You're so inexperienced. You have no idea what to do about me." Her husband winked and stretched, bones cracking into place. As he yawned his chest rose and the buttons on his shirt again pleaded for her to touch them. Briefly, Violet wondered if this was normal; if normal fifteen- nearly- sixteen year old young women wanted to undress their ex-enemies-turned- husbands.

It was certainly a curious thought.

"I guess now would be a good time to tell you…" Violet started, watching her husband stand and stretch again, wandering to his bookshelf.

"Let me guess," He said without turning. His shoes clunked to the floor in succession as he peered at the spines of books she couldn't see. "You have fourteen toes?"

Shocked, Violet snorted. "Not likely!"

"You're actually a man?"

"No!"

"Hmmm… Do you have super powers? Can you say the alphabet backwards in French? Is your middle name an expletive?"

Count Olaf turned to face his orphan with straight shoulders and a sly smile that made Violet's stomach flip. He asked conspiratorially, "Are you dating Desmond?"

"Oh, if only." She muttered. At Olaf's sour look, the eldest Baudelaire giggled. The sound was nearly unfamiliar to both of them.

Olaf's expression softened as he gazed at his young wife, happy beyond belief that he'd gotten her to laugh. The husband asked softly, "What is it, dear thing?"

At his gentle words, Violet's expression faded into a sad seriousness that made Olaf immediately wary. She held up her left hand. All Olaf saw was a band of bright green around her finger.

Count Olaf's blood froze and an unfamiliar pang slashed through his chest. The ache was almost physical. He asked quietly, carefully, "You lost our- your- ring?"

"No!" Violet shouted, realizing what it must look like. "Before The Rebellious Reunion, I was with the white-faced women and Esme. She stole it from me. Said it belonged to her because _she_ was supposed to be your Countess. Some nonsense like that."

Violet flipped her dark hair off her neck and sighed. "I know it was only worth about 25 cents, but I loved wearing it."

She slid out of her husband's gloomy robe, dropping it to the floor. Their bed sheets were cool and inviting as she slid under them, pulling the VFD blanket up to her chin. Staring out the Queequeg window, Violet noticed that the colors were just as pale and calm as before, as perfectly smooth as fresh paint.

Instead of saying what he wanted to- _"I'll buy you a ring six billion times better than the joke Esme stole_!"- Count Olaf was stupidly afraid of her noncommittal response so he said nothing of the sort.

Instead he settled for, "So is it naptime?"

His wife grinned happily under the blanket. He saw her eyes crinkle. "Yes, now come join me."

Not wasting time, Olaf began unbuttoning his shirt as Violet watched- surprised, startled, and ready. The Count smirked as he slipped off the pale shirt and into the bed next to Violet.

A moment later, the girl gasped. "Your feet are freezing!"

Olaf only hummed cheerfully and hugged her close. He watched with interest as a blush spread from Violet's neck to her face.

"You know, you'll have to get used to a shirtless husband eventually." He teased through a yawn, knowing she wasn't bothered by his shirtlessness. Violet sighed and snuggled closer to her husband, breathing in the smell of clean sheets and fresh rain.

"I suppose you're right." She agreed, yawning. Tentatively, after a few minutes of comfortable embracing, Violet whispered, "Count Olaf?"

"Hmmm?" He grumbled, obviously fighting off sleep.

Fighting through the agonizing self-conciousness and uncertainty, Violet whispered sincerely, "I'm glad I have you, too."

Her husband sighed and brushed his hands along her back, feeling the pink cotton form under his palm. He smiled, voice gruff, "Good to know."

In that moment, they were both solidly, temporarily content.

* * *

"I might as well feed myself to the leeches!" Lemony groaned later that evening as he sat at a small study desk while Olaf paced around the library.

"Go for it." The Count muttered but there was no real malice in it.

They'd been in the library for the past few hours going over VFD codes and reading over the letters between Beatrice and Lemony. Reading them, Count Olaf had to admit, had been inspiring. Lemony's love and total adoration for the late Mrs. Baudelaire had been stunning and unparalleled. It made the Count a bit jealous, knowing that the man was capable of expressing himself so… eloquently. He wondered what Violet would think of the letters, if she'd find them just as adorable and sweetly heartbreaking like her mother had.

"Usually," the author said contritely, his frustration tautening his tone, "One would use 'In case of death' which would mean, 'In the offhand or completely not offhand chance that I become deceased.' But here my darling Beatrice wrote 'In case of death.' As if something was in a deathly case of some sort."

By then, Count Olaf was laying on the ground with a book of poems covering his face. He recited to himself, _"So learn, dear thing, learn from their woe. For love is something you should know."_

Lemony sighed and glanced at his actor friend on the floor, wondering if the Count knew just what he had recited and how very apropos it was for his situation. His mind made up, Lemony stretched out on the carpet and covered his face with his bowl-shaped hat. The carpet left red indentions on his palms.

The two men laid together in frustrated, companionable silence. Downstairs they could hear the sounds of Loid beginning to cook. He was humming happily to himself a song neither of them recognized. Just as Olaf was starting to recognize the song, he heard the familiar slap of feet smacking down the hallway.

Violet burst into the library, her hair messy and dirty, pink pajamas wrinkled. Unfazed by the sight of her husband and Lemony lying on the floor of the library, she stomped over to both of them and whipped the objects off their faces. At their surprised stares, Violet just glared.

She set Lemony's hat on her head and flipped the Count's book under her arm, mockingly calm.

"So, have you even tried the Medusoid Mycellin?" She asked, reaching into the pocket of her pajamas and tossing the bottle onto Lemony's chest.

"Tried it." Both men said in unison, echoing each other's frustration. As if she needed further explaining, Lemony stated, "It didn't work."

Disappointed, Violet slunk down to the floor to join them. They sat for awhile, bouncing absurd ideas back and forth. "What if we scribble over it with invisible ink and hope the rest turns up?"

"What if we played various musical instruments over it and hope it sang its secrets?"

"What if we mixed horseradish and wasabi and turned it into a watery substance like the Medusoid Mycellin and tried to find it that way?"

At Violet's offhand comment, Lemony perked and stood quickly, whipping his hat off her head. "Violet, what if we did do that? If Ink Inc.'s ink is what Beatrice used to write with, and Ink Inc. makes invisible ink for us that reacts to the Medusoid Mycellium, then maybe if we make a sort of paste ourselves from horseradish, then the Mycellin will react to that and reveal something!"

Count Olaf was getting interested now, his brow furrowing in concentration. He told them, "That would explain why it was in the sugar bowl…"

Violet lent Count Olaf a hand as the three stood, hearts racing, minds pumping out answers and problems and conclusions in rapid succession. Before the three could go any further, one adoptive father's voice chimed happily from a little black speaker on the library desk. "Dinner's ready! I hope you don't mind, son, but I used the condiments you kept in the skylight room. I didn't think you'd need them anyway. Now, come down quickly before it gets cold! I think you'll like it!"

* * *

**_"Without libraries we'd be D-U-M. We wouldn't know our elbows from our bums!"_ Is a quote from the song Daniel sometimes sings at meet-ups, 'Without Libraries.' I can't stop singing it.**

**Also, Daniel Handler really adores Vladimir Nobokov! In the interviews I've seen he makes it a point to mention Nobokov in any roundabout way. I've counted five times so far.**

**The lovely Goblinesque was kind enough to make me a poster that is now the cover for this fic! Truly, it amazed me. I think I spent the rest of the day grinning! To see the poster in all of its glory, you can find it on her tumblr, lifesuckseggsdottumblrdotcom or on my tumblr, carleycavalierdottumblrdotco m. **

**I'm sorry this fic has taken so long to update. I've started school recently and I swear I have more homework now than ever! I'll try not to let it get this far between new Acts again.**

**Let me know what you think!**


	13. Act Three, Part One: Homes, Horrors,

Act Three, Part One: Homes, Horrors, and Half-Lies

"I will Love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all." -Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

"Nothing's happening."

It was said almost guiltily, eerily quiet in the small home theatre.

At the young woman's words, red velvet curtains seemed to press against her back, plush seats pushed into her lips, the ceiling Violet could've worn as a hat. For one moment, she sighed too long and the room shrank. A fresh lung-full of disappointment fit the walls back together.

Lemony's shoulders slumped in defeat while Count Olaf immediately sprang up and ran backstage. They could hear him kicking something around, breath labored. When he returned, the man had crystalline fluff stuck in his hair. At his wife's questioning glance, Olaf stated, "Box of old puppets."

"Well," Lemony shook around his ex-fiancé's note, chunks of the horseradish/wasabi concoction dripping away to fall to center stage. "Now we know."

Numb with dissatisfaction, Violet crooked her knees and leapt from the stage. What she really wanted to do was go jump off the walls in the skylight room, but with sugar bowl contents and Snicket files staring, she knew she wouldn't enjoy it.

What Lemony really wanted to do was play his accordion. He wanted to feel the give and tug of it under his grip, pride himself on his memorization, the steady current of practiced fingers put to use. His hands twitched, the first few notes of The Little Snicket Lad tapped atop the air.

What Count Olaf wanted was a distraction. He debated several things all at once, not all of them acceptable: penning the newest theatrical masterpiece, exploring the attic, take a bath, read a book, head into town to find the newest edition of The Daily Punctilio...

"I'm going to the attic." He told the two, as if he had considered his other, less-enjoyable options. They both nodded in response, each wanting equally to be secluded and distracted.

"I'm going to the skylight room." Violet decided, suddenly uncaring of files and fires and bowls that didn't hold sugar.

"I'm…" Lemony started, holding his hands where an accordion should've been. All that was left of the lovely instrument were keys and ash.

Olaf and Violet turned to look at their miserable friend. Lemony Snicket looked very much like a lost child then. "I just want my accordion."

Glancing at his wife, the Count sighed and rolled his eyes. "Come with me, you woebegone author."

Half an hour later after one closet trip and a very dusty rag, Sali was handing Lemony her resurrected instrument.

"You can have it." She told him sweetly, watching as he gazed appreciatively. Tonight Sali looked stunning. Her hair was done up in a smooth bun, her lips were a full, deep cherry.

Loid, Sali, Olaf, and Violet sat at the very front row of the theatre. When Sali reached over to grab her son's hand, he didn't pull away or sneer like Violet expected him to.

Instead, he smiled at the woman and held her hand just as fondly.

"Who would've thought," Violet whispered, breath tickling her husband's ear, "That I'd be sitting in your parent's house, married to you, and getting sentimental over seeing you hold your mom's hand?"

Her husband whispered back, "No one, but I'm happy that it happened."

"Happier than a pig eating bacon?" Violet teased, reflecting his words back at him. Count Olaf merely rolled his eyes and said, "Shut up, you, and watch the author."

Lemony grinned, a huge happy expression. He straightened his posture and pushed on the keys experimentally. Loid called, "It's an Ampersand's Always-Tuned Accordion."

Before he could respond, Violet asked fondly, "And what shall you be playing for us, oh noble volunteer?"

"For you mostly lovely people," He looked pointedly at Olaf. The small family laughed teasingly. "I will be performing a rendition of The Little Snicket Lad. It has been played most often in theatres, inns, and grocery stores within the region. Though the tune is pleasant, the song is otherwise not a fair representation of my childhood."

He trilled the accordion once before starting up on the tune of a well-known naval disaster.

"_**On a charming little cattle farm**_

_**Near a pretty deadly lake,**_

_**Was a very pregnant woman,**_

_**And her husband known as Jake.**_

_**Though they lived in a big mansion**_

_**Down Robber Road a tad**_

_**It was at the farm the lady**_

_**Bore the little Snicket lad.**_

_**And then they took him, yea, they took him**_

_**They took him far away**_

_**They took him in the dead of night**_

_**Beneath a moon of gray.**_

_**They took him from the kitchen,**_

_**Like you'd take a midnight snack,**_

_**The VFD they took him,**_

_**And they never brought him back.**_

_**He was lively and intelligent,**_

_**And drank a lot of milk**_

_**His crib was made of silver**_

_**And his diapers sewn from silk**_

_**Both his siblings watched him,**_

_**And his mother and his dad,**_

_**But someone else was watching **_

_**O'er the little Snicket lad."**_

Goosebumps sprouted up Violet's arms as she listened, enraptured. She'd expected something clever and tricky, just like the accordionist himself, but the song to the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat just intrigued her. Violet felt suddenly as if he were hinting at something and that she should be taking diligent notes.

"_**And then they took him, yea, they took him,**_

_**They took him far away.**_

_**They took him in the dead of night, **_

_**Beneath a moon of gray**_

_**They took him from the kitchen,**_

_**Like you'd take a midnight snack,**_

_**The VFD they took him**_

_**And they never brought him back.**_

_**One evening Jake was chopping wood,**_

_**And his wife was at the mill,**_

_**The siblings two were drinking tea,**_

_**And the house was very still.**_

_**They came in through the windows**_

_**Not the door which was the fad,**_

_**A long black car was parked outside**_

_**For the little Snicket lad."**_

Lemony repeated the chorus once more before ending slowly, pointedly. Count Olaf whispered the words under his breath, following along with his author friend.

"_**When we grab you by the ankles,**_

_**Where our mark is to be made,**_

_**You'll soon be doing noble work,**_

_**Although you won't be paid.**_

_**When we drive away in secret,**_

_**You'll be a volunteer,**_

_**So don't scream when we take you:**_

_**The world is quiet here."**_

As the man ended his song, Loid and Sali stood, Loid clapping enthusiastically. Olaf released his adoptive mother's hand so she could do the same. The woman grinned, "Wonderful, Lemony."

Count Olaf and Violet were a bit more reserved than that, recognizing the weight of the lyrics.

"Yes," Violet agreed, standing, "You're and excellent musician."

"Thank you, thank you." Lemony said contritely, leaping from the stage. For a faceless reason Violet wanted to hug him.

"That was a very neat song." Loid said happily. "But why were you taken from your home in a long black car?" He glanced at his adoptive son who was busy messing with Violet's hair ribbon and avoiding his eyes. Loid muttered, "That seems familiar."

Lemony carefully set the Ampersand's atop the stage and brushed the dust off his suit jacket. "This song, though, has some very false descriptors. Robber Road was nowhere near my home, and contrary to popular belief, I was not young enough to be in diapers when I was carried across my yard and into a long black car. Also, the windows inside that car were very tinted, making everything appear gray. I haven't yet found an almanac that can tell me what color the moon was that night."

"Why would you have been taken away from your family by your ankles? And what is VFD?" Loid asked as Sali wandered over to mess with her old accordion.

"Okay, goodnight." Count Olaf said, grabbing his wife's arm and walking away quickly. Lemony took the opportunity to leave, departing directly behind the couple, calling, "Goodnight! Watch out for the Bombinating Beast!"

"The what?" Loid asked, but his wife had taken the accordion into her hands and pressed it together, creating one long, quivery note.

The author slipped away, leaving Sali to her newest plaything and Loid to his questions.

* * *

Only when she was already dressed into her pajamas, one sleep-heavy arm flung across where her husband's chest should've been, her shadow thrown onto the hardwood by the gray moon, did Violet realize one thing: She'd undressed right in front of him. Slipped off the dress he'd given her into likewise pajamas without even realizing that it was the first time he'd seen her half-naked and exhausted.

He hadn't said anything, just stared in shock, took his shirt off, and flopped onto the bed with his fists clenched.

Olaf's hands had been hesitant, restricted as he ran them over her back as she lay completely atop him, their breathing eventually leveling out to match.

"Violet," he'd started shakily, "Uh, you know- you know that I adore you. That I'd denounce my past, befriend my enemies, and rush off to let VFD condemn me for you, right?"

"Yes," she said quietly, curious of what he was getting at. Olaf's arms tightened around her, he pressed a thumb gently into her back and followed it along her spine, soothing, distracting.

"Once we get to VFD you won't… denounce me, will you? You won't suddenly sneer, drop my hand, and tell me it was all just to lure me there?"

"I should be insulted by that." the eldest Baudelaire said lightly, propping herself up so she could look him in the eyes. Violet asked him, "Once we get there will you suddenly denounce me and say that this was all some elaborate scheme? Let me become suddenly aware of your newest, grandest plot yet?"

Count Olaf winced. "Now _I am_ insulted…"

Violet trailed her fingers into the dip of his collar bone and watched as he shivered. "Don't be. It's not like I think that's what will happen. I won't suddenly decide I hate you."

He smiled thinly at her, still hesitant, still scared. Violet leaned forward and kissed him, sat atop his hips with her hands flat on his chest.

"You're a tease." The Count whispered against her lips, lashes lowered, cheeks flushed.

Confused, Violet asked, "Am I?"

Olaf stared at her for a few moments, trying to decide how to respond. Eventually, he sighed and looked away. It was Violet's turn to become hesitant, wary. It was the fear of stepping too quickly and not knowing where her feet would land.

Violet removed her hands from his chest, sat up and slid from his hips. She was uneasy, staring at her husband with fearful curiosity.

"Did I do something wrong?" Her voice was carefully neutral. Count Olaf sighed again and brushed a hand through his hair.

"No," he told her, "No. It's just… You're fifteen." It was said simply, finally. Violet wanted to shout childishly, _"But I'll be sixteen tomorrow!"_

"Yes," she said instead, "But don't start doubting me. Lemony and my mother were around that age, -"

"How do you know about that?" Olaf asked, angry for a reason that had no why. Violet told him, "While you and Lemony were examining the sugar bowl, I woke up and found the boxes of his in the library. I… I wanted to know more about my mother."

"You sneak!" Olaf accused, offended that she'd rummaged through the letters a man would run into a burning building for.

"I don't think he'd mind," Violet half-lied. "I know you were reading them with him in the library. I know how old they were because Lemony wished my mother a happy seventeenth birthday and remarked about how she'd always be older than him unless R's mother's wrinkle cream was actually anti-aging!"

Count Olaf remembered suddenly how Beatrice and R would go rummaging through R's mother's donated make-up during disguise training. They had remarked on the cream, joked about the promises of youth it employed. He could almost see their faces through the blurry shadows of memory, the glint of their teeth was prominent; the fabric of their uniforms was scratchy and well-worn. He could imagine the emerald lumber everywhere, omnipresent, encompassing.

The man defended, "Even if they were nearly as young as you, look how they ended up."

"What, _dead_?" Violet stared in disgust, appalled that he had the gall to suggest it. _"Dead and heartsick?"_

Urgently, Olaf sat up and held his hands out to try and placate her but Violet was having none of it. He said quickly, "Violet, I didn't mean it like that."

His pleading tone was enough to stop her movements off their bed. One of her feet was on the floor; the other was on the edge of the bed, her knee crooked so it was raised near her chin. The girl's face was bright red with hurt and fury, framed by wide russet eyes and dark hair.

Internally, the former villain was almost frantic with the need to console her. He wanted to take her anger, her hurt, her disgust, peel them from her emotions and leave them to rot inside an abandoned Observatory.

Her husband said gently, "What I meant is that Beatrice married someone else and Lemony's still broken."

For about a minute, Violet just rested her head on her kneecap, face hidden by a wall of wavy hair. It fell across her neck in wispy strands, resembling ink on fresh paper. He clenched his fists and gave her time to think before attempting to touch her.

"Okay…" she said finally, "But don't tell me I'm too young for you again." When she turned to look at him, her eyelashes were thick and clumped, that wide brown was red-rimmed. "Please."

Count Olaf nodded once. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and crouched onto his knees so they were nearly face to face. He took her hands into his much larger ones, and looked down to examine them together. He stretched out their fingers, ran his index over the faded green band.

While he was doing that, Violet examined the way his eyelashes cast choppy shadows down his face, and the tiny wrinkles near the corners of his eyes. It was strange seeing him this close up without having to focus on his words, or his actions, or any one of the thoughts colliding in her head. It was simple, biased examination.

"Please don't stay mad at me." Count Olaf looked exhausted and wholly scared as he said with a vulnerable smile, "Remember, I'll drink until I ruin my liver without you!"

His Countess grinned at him, adoring his heartfelt version of apologies he wasn't used to giving. "I'm not mad, you crazy husband-boyfriend." Violet smiled, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Good." With that, he stood and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm going to the attic."

"Oh…" Violet said, surprised, disappointed. "Okay."

The VFD eye winked at her, momentarily glimpsed as Olaf slipped his shoes on without donning socks.

"Goodnight, dear thing. See you in the morning." Count Olaf winked, shut the door, and walked away to an unknown destination. Watching as his shoulders were engulfed by shadows and listening as his eager footfalls fell away, Violet hated herself for wondering if whatever was in the attic was noble or not.

* * *

"Stop pestering me!" Lemony shouted, his expression annoyed. "I told you, I don't know _where_ he is. Now, go invent something."

The eldest Baudelaire again stepped in front of the author, effectively blocking Loid as he was attempting to venture downstairs and into the kitchen. Violet could feel the nail pops in the wood under her fingers, feel the strange way her shoulders braced and her hair felt like water on the back of her neck, almost there, not enough to distract and force her to tie it back.

"Oh, goodness." She heard the man mutter morosely behind her.

"Violet, you're being unreasonable." Lemony said, voice steady and frustrated. "I don't know _where_ Count Olaf is, I don't know _why_ his car is gone, and I _certainly_ have no idea why you're acting like this."

"But you do! I can tell!" The girl insisted, continuing to block the stairwell. Loid whimpered behind her, "But I just want my coffee…"

Violet half expected Lemony to stamp his foot by how absolutely frustrated he looked.

"Violet Baudelaire," he nearly growled, "Stop acting like a love-struck child! You haven't seen your husband for a handful or hours and already you're throwing a fit and dreaming up nefarious schemes and plots by random villains! Forgive me but I thought you were more logical than this."

Violet just stared, each of his words hitting home in a way she didn't like. She could feel the nail pop press too tightly, attempting to shut the veins, her shoulders ached and turned less belligerent.

"If you want your husband to stop treating you like a child or a very volatile typewriter, I suggest you stop cornering me or anyone else in this home for information we don't _have_. Count Olaf will probably return. Now calm down or I will slip coconut cordial into your afternoon tea."

Still frustrated, he stepped away from the stairwell, into the front room, and through Loid's secret door. As the caffeine deprived father stumbled past Violet and into the kitchen, she could hear Lemony through the walls, his new accordion wailing in tune. _"Even in the darkest forest, fireflies are flick'ring…"_

"Loid," the girl turned to where the adoptive father was sitting by himself at the small table about to sip his golden mug full of very strong coffee. He flinched when he finally heard her.

"I don't know anything!" he pleaded, again attempting to sip his coffee with a fearful, slippery grip. Violet sat across from him and asked, "Well, why would he have gone to the attic in the first place? What's up there?"

"I don't want to hear anything about the attic!" Violet was suddenly afraid Loid was going to burst into tears, his voice was so squeaky.

"Why?" Violet asked intently, rising to her feet. "What's up there?"

"I can't tell you! I don't even know what it is! Now, I don't want to hear any more questions about this attic or any other! I haven't been up there since- Oh, goodness, my coffee…" Loid had knocked over his mug in a series of frantic hand gestures, staining Sali's tablecloth evermore.

"Loid, I'm sorry," Violet muttered, rushing to grab a rag and only then beginning to feel guilty.

"No, no, don't, it's fine. I… I don't want to argue." His stare was sad then, so hesitant that when accompanied with his desperate tone, he sounded truly broken.

"I told you not to corner anyone else-!" Lemony started as he slid into the kitchen, but the resounding bang of an opening door knocked the words from his lips, slipped them empty between his teeth.

"I've returned, you miscreants! Now where are my author and my orphan?" Count Olaf suddenly peered into the kitchen, his very large sunglasses covering most of his face. He looked at the two of them over the rim of the glasses and pointed. "You two go get in my car. We have places to see and things to do and more places to visit."

With that, the former villain swung around, and leaned against the table, directly before his red-faced father. Before saying anything, he turned and shooed the two away saying, "I'll be there in a second! Just go!"

"But wh-?" Violet had started to ask, but Lemony merely caught her by the arm and led her out the door and to the car. She slid into the passenger seat and sighed, expelling her own frustration. What she really wanted to do, sitting inside the stale car with a silent undoubtedly irritated man, was invent. She settled for fashioning a half-hearted lock pick out of three paperclips, a hatpin, and a piece of gum with the initials LLM pressed into it.

"We," Count Olaf said as he slipped into the car and started it quickly, "Are going to a place I know neither of you will enjoy."

"What fun." Lemony muttered from the back. Olaf eyed him in one of the many circular mirrors placed along the dash as they pulled out of Beset Boulevard and began to drive into the city.

"But I believe it may assist us in discovering the meaning behind Beatrice's note." At that, both of them perked, hearts suddenly jolting into action.

"Where-?" Violet asked at the same time Lemony began with, "How could this place,-"

"You'll see when we get there. Just prepare yourselves." The Count's words weren't as placating as he'd intended. Both his author and his orphan felt affronted and offended and viscerally upset

"No!" Lemony sputtered. "I'd very much like to know where we are going and if it will entail horrendous misadventures of any kind!"

"Wait…"Violet said, feeling her heart sink to weigh heavily in her gut. "I know where we're…"

And when Count Olaf stopped the car, the former villain, the former lover, and the former daughter were left staring through dirty car windows at a charred skeletal home. The Baudelaire mansion was the exact same as they had left it; the walkway was still untouched and the doorframe remained curved, all that was structurally safe were a few walls, a landing on the top floor, and what had once been a grand staircase. The floor was charred floorboards, slats of ceiling, and shapeless memories

Horror made Violet want to retch. If she had remembered to pay attention to him, she could've heard Lemony whimper, just once.

"I think there may be something here we can find." Count Olaf said softly, finally reaching out to run a hand down his wife's cheek. "Are you ready?" He asked them both.

Tacitly agreeing, Lemony and Violet stepped out of Count Olaf's car and stepped forward. Glancing at each other, they both knew that the sight of the home was especially difficult to witness all over again, especially because of all the emerald green ash.

* * *

**The Little Snicket Lad is a song found in _The Unauthorized Autobiography_ and is said to resemble the tune of Row, Row, Row Your Boat, which in _The Grim Grotto_, Violet admits is her least favorite song.**

**The Bombinating Beast is actually mentioned in the newest few chapters of _Who Could That Be At This Hour?_, and it is described as looking a bit like a seahorse.**

**_"Even in the darkest forest, fireflies are flick'ring…" _is a quote from the Gothic Archies' song This Abyss.**

**Also, I think that this would be an appropriate time to mention, since things are getting a bit...intense (?) that I won't write smut. I feel that if I did, it would take away from the whole Snicket-ish feel. Apologies, if anyone was looking forward to that, but that, for me, is a no-go. **

**Let me know what you think!**


	14. Act Three, Part Two: The Surreptitious

Act Three, Part Two: The Surreptitious Surprise

"I will Love you always. Continuously. With increasing apprehension and decreasing hope." –Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

Breathing air became fuzzy with ash, inhaled and stuck inside their throats. Each breath was a struggle, the exhaling worse than before. It made green dust swirl in flurries atop the air, hazy and too close to see.

"Last time I was here," Lemony said softly, like he was afraid his words would rub raw the left over atmosphere, "It was when you had just been born and Beatrice and Bertrand were renewing their wedding vows. There were also some illicit VFD reasons behind it, of course, but mainly it was about your parents. I showed up here the night before the ceremony. I had come to wish your mother every drop of happiness this wicked world would give her, but when I was about to fall in through the chimney, or tap on the windows in Morse Code, I…"

The author stepped carefully around a fallen stair step, while his younger counterpart stepped atop it, wanting to trigger the bittersweet creak.

"I didn't want to see her. I didn't want to see her still blissfully happy with Bertrand. The thought of making myself had me retching, Violet; I was selfish." Lemony jammed his hands into his pockets, took them out again to mess with his hat.

"You… I bet she understood." Violet said, attempting to relieve the man of his guilt, woe, and longing.

The questions she wanted to ask weren't ones she could readily present to him. _"Why didn't my mother marry you? How long did you know each other? Were you friends with my father? Did he know you loved her?"_

The man didn't answer her unspoken questions. Instead, he looked around in confusion and glanced behind his left shoulder. "Where is Count Olaf?"

Violet squinted, glancing around, trying not to focus to intently on what used to be her home. She hadn't even thought about where her husband might have wandered off to.

Hearing his author-friend's question, Count Olaf called, "I'm in the back. I went around."

Lemony held her hand as she hopped over a fallen beam, making their way to the much more upright back half of the home. Olaf was staring at the mantle of their fireplace, one hand reaching out to clutch something while the other was jammed into his right pocket.

He looked defensive, then, eyes downcast, one hip dropped, shoulders bunched in. With the light shining in from what was once a wall of windows from their kitchen beyond, her husband looked like someone had cut him out of the picture very carefully, leaving behind one strange, dark shape.

Once Violet's eyes adjusted, she could see an adoring, amused smile on Olaf's thin lips. Her own smile twitched in response, eager to see what had him so delighted despite the heavy atmosphere. Upon closer inspection, she recognized it immediately.

"Hey!" she yelled, mortified. "Don't look at that! I was _young_,-!" But Count Olaf was already beaming, tapping on the scorched glass.

"Look at you!" he crowed, flashing them a photograph of Violet grinning with a youth-round face, scrunched eyes, and missing teeth. "You're so awkward!"

"I was seven!" She leapt towards her husband who ducked and jumped away with a laugh. His laugh was heard so rarely, Violet wasn't even too concerned about the horrid photograph anymore. She wanted to make Count Olaf laugh for her, because of her.

"I'm keeping this forever! Lemony, look!" Olaf stepped towards the author and side-stepped around his wife with the full intention of passing the photo off to the other man.

But with one wrong step, Olaf vanished with a crack and a flurry of green ashes. Violet shrieked, something she'd be embarrassed to admit, whilst Lemony gasped and lurched forward, eager to rescue.

The loud, echoing splinters seemed out of place within the too-still skeleton of a home. A giant hole replaced where the Count once stood.

"Ugh," Olaf groaned from inside the dark, depthless hole. "I suppose I'll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies."

"Are you alright?" Violet called, voice shaking. Fear for his safety had shot her voice and made her limbs go weak. The idea of losing someone else she adored was incomprehensible. Any minor injury shook her. She recalled when her husband had gotten a paper cut a few days prior and she'd almost threw up she'd been so panicked. Even seeing the small swell and drip of blood had made her whole body heave with the resounding finality of, _"No. You're not allowed to be injured. Not when I care about you so much."_

Olaf had been puzzled, having seen too many bloody injuries in his time, to which a paper cut was nothing if not a melodramatic acting opportunity. He'd teased her saying, _"It's just a paper cut, stupid. Now come invent me a bandage. Please."_

They'd retreated to the gold and gray colored bathroom that her husband had taken her to after his first declaration of wanting to woo her. She'd cleaned that little paper cut and the sticky trail of blood it left. Patching him up like a war survivor had calmed her nerves a bit, but still the girl was startled by how it had affected her.

Now, standing over the hole her husband had just collapsed into, hyperaware of every sound he could have been making, Violet could feel the emerald dust settling on the shoulders of her cream dress, atop the backs of her hands, in the roots of her dark hair.

"No!" Count Olaf cried. They both heard the scuffle as he stood and stumbled. "There are _bugs_ down here!"

"What your concerned Countess intends to know," Lemony called, looking concerned although his tone conveyed annoyance, "Is if you are dead or fatally injured."

"I'm deceased. Now, throw me your flashlight! There are _bugs down here!"_

"I've carried this with me ever since I had to explore a certain lighthouse in my youth with only a young female journalist as company and too many questions that were all very wrong." Lemony sighed as if he were bored and tipped his bowl-shaped hat expertly into his palm. Along the inside rim was a very thin, very long black flashlight. The man threaded the flexible light through its loops, clicked a button, and tossed it into the jaggedly-edged hole.

The beam cast too many shadows up the dark walls, criss-crossed and sharp, overlapping too quickly for her to make much sense of them. She saw her husband's hands reach out and miss. The flashlight smacked loudly against the fathomless floor.

"What is it?" Lemony called, restricting Violet as she tried to inch closer. He muttered over his shoulder, "You don't need to fall in, too."

"It's…" Count Olaf waved the flashlight around. His tone was awed and suspicious when he called back, "It's a tunnel."

Lemony was already sitting on the floor, scooting cover to the hole. Just before he was about to drop, the author stated blandly, "Catch me, darling."

As Lemony's feet hit the ground a few seconds later, Olaf's "Never!" finally reached her.

"It's not that bad, Violet." Lemony called up. She could hear the rustle as he brushed off his clothes both for reassurance and to remove the cobwebs that had accumulated over the years from no visitors.

As Violet crouched, ready to crook her knees and leap, she told them sternly, "Don't catch me."

The heels of her boots came into contact with the floor sooner than expected, but then it lurched, flipping the eldest Baudelaire so she dropped. The crack of her head slamming against the concrete was sickening.

"Violet-!" Lemony was suddenly above her, pinning her shoulders as she tried to sit up and move. His voice was breathless as he commanded, "Don't move until your vision stops spinning."

Violet obeyed, confused and bewildered, only sitting up when she felt she could. "What happened?"

Lemony glared at Count Olaf who was too pale, his lips slightly blue.

"I…" started the Count with a large gasp, "I tried to catch you…I…wanted to say something sweet and husband-y like, _'I'll be here for you forever,'_ or _'I adore you more than Lemony does marmosets and typewriters,'_ or _'You can count on me because I'm Count Olaf."_

Lemony smirked at Violet. "You knocked the wind out of him."

The girl winced as she touched the back of her head, thankful there was no blood. In its place was a considerably round bump.

"That's sweet and husband-y," Violet reached out to squeeze his fingers and rub his shoulders, soothing. "But we both got hurt. Try to be sweet when we can both see next time."

"I'm sorry." Count Olaf sounded terribly guilty as he helped her stand. The phrase was unfamiliar to hear from the former villain, so much so that Lemony whirled around, portable flashlight in hand, to stare at the couple. Olaf continued, "Really, Violet, I'm sorry. Are you alright? Is your head okay? Are you dead or fatally injured?"

Smiling affectionately and trying not to wince, she responded, "I'm deceased. Now let's follow this tunnel."

With Lemony in the lead, Olaf and Violet followed behind, the girl reaching out to hold her husband's hand. The smile he gave her in the thick dark of the tunnel nearly broke her heart in two, split her right in half it was so sweet and twistedly melancholy.

With bugs skittering around, more cobwebs hanging low, and dust slick in their throats, the former lover, the former daughter, and the former villain made their way through the buried intestines of the wasted home above.

Waiting was the worst. They were all expecting something at the end, something to save them or console them or show them secrets they didn't know. Playing 'What If?' like they had for the sugar bowl wasn't an option. Each of their questions left a tang in their mouths, spoilt after staying trapped for so long.

"_Why did you bring us here?"_ Violet wanted to ask her husband and place her grieving heart in his hands as proof. _"Look how much this hurts- look at all the bruises… What if there's nothing here and all these bruises were for nothing?"_

Count Olaf wanted to alternately apologize to every speck of ash and brick they passed. _"I'm sorry I didn't stop this. I'm sorry I caused such unparamountable fear and woe."_ In his own defense, he would want to heatedly reply, "I've made up for this! Don't condemn me!" But then he wasn't sure if he was defending himself against the home or a fistful of absent ghosts.

Lemony Snicket wanted to alternately run away and out of this tunnel, afraid to be confronted with the ruins of a woman that had once meant everything to him, or stay down there for eternity. He would strain his ears for ghostly whispers admitting lifelong adoration and apologies from pale, blue lips.

"What is that?" Violet had brushed past Lemony, quickly dropping her husband's hand, to run towards the end of the tunnel.

At the girl's feet was a pale blue suitcase, the lock blocked by a very dusty typewriter.

"It's already unlocked." Lemony said before Violet could touch it. With a bit of mumbling and careful hands, the typewriter was lifted from the suitcase, the mouth of it jarred further open in the process.

"What…?" Violet gazed down at the many contents wondering why they were there and how they were important.

"In case of death… Beatrice was always tricky. Always clever. In the offhand or completely not offhand chance that she became deceased, she put her important incriminating evidence in a suitcase. I assume that all of the keywords for this Vernacularly Fastened Device, usually seen on Vernacularly Fastened Doors, had something to do with death. Oh, my clever girl…"

Count Olaf laid his hand on his wife's shoulder and crouched, dragging her down and into his side. With his other hand, he reached out to grab a long metal spike. Only when he glanced at her, eyes unreadable, did she realize what it was.

"Oh, goodness." Violet sighed, her thoughts briefly going to her adoptive father-in-law. "Count Olaf, I'm sorry."

When she realized what was in his hand and how he must be feeling, the girl almost doubled over with hurt. Empathy and horror and guilt and the twisted need to apologize made her want to cling to him and wish away every nightmarish emotion. Olaf just tugged her closer.

The man gently grasped the other poison dart and set it on the cold stone ground. He seemed hesitant to touch them for too long. Whether it was because of the poison or what they could've been used for, she could only guess.

The Count stared up at Lemony whose face was carefully neutral, guarded, his expression unyielding and horribly guiltless.

"Did you stick around to collect them afterwards or were these extras?"

"Those were extras," Lemony lied under the imperative use of a Veiled Facial Disguise, "Someone could've missed."

Both the author and the inventor pretended not to notice the Count's flinch.

"This," Violet said quietly, tugging at a small yellow book. It was a welcome distraction to the three whose hearts couldn't stop stomping. "This book. You have a copy. _A Volunteer's Guide to Baticeering_."

Lemony sat on the ground, uncaring if his trousers became muddy or sooty. "I did before the fire. Your mother was an excellent baticeer. I'm surprised she never kept them in your home."

The man smiled sadly, his teeth dull white in the reflection of his hat light.

"When I first met you I was clutching a book of bats written by your mother and a bag full of Ink Inc.'s ink. There are so many details to your family that I possessed and still do that it doesn't seem entirely fair that you don't know them."

It felt like someone had punched Violet in the chest. She had a hard time working through the intention of Lemony's words and if he meant her any ill will or if he had just been making a very blunt observation. She didn't want to think that he would hurt her, or dangle the temptation of knowing her parents in front of her face for his own amusement, but Violet was starting to have her doubts. She willed herself to stay calm and deter the pressure building behind her eyeballs.

_"Nothing's fair."_ Count Olaf almost snapped in defense of his wife and Lemony's ambiguous taunts. Instead, anger thick in his throat like unspoken words, he ran his hand up Violet's back, watching as she handed the little yellow book to the man across the suitcase. Her mother's hardback quickly left her hands and entered Lemony's.

They both saw Violet's hands, empty, purposeless, ghost over a pile of fabric they hadn't looked at. Eager to help her understand and distract, Count Olaf said, "These are a volunteer's disguises."

Shifting them around, Violet found a clown costume, a peg leg, a receptionist outfit, gym clothes, a detective's badge, and a bullfighting disguise.

"And these," Lemony snatched up a small box of emerald green matches, identical to the ones the Count had in his pocket. They seemed to grow heavily, noticed and awareness-strengthened. "Are a box of matches originally used by all volunteers but, after the schism, they were used primarily by villains."

"I still have mine." Count Olaf's voice was gruff, disappointed by all the matches he couldn't unburn. Unsure of what to do with them, Lemony handed them to Olaf. It seemed only appropriate. As the Count jammed the pack into his pocket, the two boxes rubbed against each other, wearing down the corners to barely-there holes.

"What is-?" Count Olaf reached across his wife, his chest nudging into the back of her shoulder. She could feel a few of her hairs graze the stubble along his jaw.

"_I Will Love You As_," the husband muttered, setting the dusty maroon book atop his lap. He could feel the substantial weight of it press against his thighs. Violet wiped the dust from its face, exposing the golden-tinted title.

"I haven't seen that book in years…" Lemony sighed. He sounded broken. Like his chest had caved in or his nostalgia had overwhelmed his eyesight so all he could see were far-away memories and the tall arch of a pale throat. He could almost hear that antediluvian voice lying sweetly_, "Mr. Snicket, I'll always love you…"_

"This was a book that the lovers in VFD would pass around. They would entrust the book to one couple for years so that they could learn how to have a meaningful relationship within VFD and all of its restrictions. There are certain codes to learn to let the other know that being affectionate was alright one moment, or if they should pretend to be enemies because they were amongst enemies. Also included are appropriate outfit suggestions for masquerades, balls, social gatherings, book signings, violin recitals, trials, and coded musicals."

Count Olaf glanced at his wife quickly, questions and hopes and expectations in his dark eyes.

"We should use this." Violet told him, opening the cover. On the front flyleaf was the omnipresent VFD insignia. It looked fierce atop the yellowing pages.

"We will." Olaf promised, unwilling to set the useful book on the ground, despite the fact that it had been locked in a suitcase for years.

"_I Will Love You As_…" Violet muttered with a sigh. She was suddenly achey and tired and wanted out of that tunnel more than anything. Her legs wouldn't move when she tried to tell them to.

_Get away from these secrets_, Violet willed her throbbing heart and shakey, too-weak legs. _You can't carry them all._

"As peppermints love your allergies. I will love you if you don't marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else." Lemony continued silently, _'That, Beatrice, is how I will love you as the world goes on its wicked way.'_

In that moment, Violet wondered how long the notes in the book were for Lemony and her mother and if she had ever shown them to her father. Had they written in it together?

"And the last time I saw this book…" It took both Lemony and Count Olaf to heft the giant thing form the suitcase, "I was in the company of a man with clay for feet. He never forced me to do anything."

"It wouldn't be very redeeming if we took this to VFD." Olaf said, snapping open the fragile binding as if he'd done it too many times. He flipped readily to the back index to look at his name, which was followed by a very, very long list of villainous acts and performances and quotes and destroyed buildings, all followed by a string of page numbers.

"_A Series of Unfortunate Events_," Violet muttered, "by Lemony Snicket."

Hearing her say it felt like a punch to a black eye.

The author stood and threw the contents back into the suitcase, quickly snapping it closed and latching it before stomping off. The typewriter, still stuck to the lid, dinged with every step. In stunned silence, the couple could hear it grow faint. His flashlight still rested where he'd left it on the ground, hollowing out one of his footprints.

When the two finally joined him, walking along in a stunned, overwhelmed silence with one book in each set of emerald-dusted hands, he was in the car. Violet could see Lemony's glare warped by the dirty windshield as he sat in the driver's seat.

As she clambered into the back on dead legs, Count Olaf sliding in next to her, lemony adjusted three mirrors and said with a managed voice, "The suitcase is in the trunk. Although it may be dented by the time we arrive at our next destination. I have a feeling that driving this automobile is a bit different than a taxicab."

"And where are we going?" Violet asked, her voice quiet, not wanting to overwhelm the already cramped vehicle. Lemony began to drive, moving away from the skeleton home with its sinew and flesh as emerald soot at its feet; away, however distantly, from Beset Boulevard and the loving parents inside it.

Count Olaf rested his head atop hers and sighed. He told her softly, "We're going home."

"Home is where the heartless is." Violet quoted, reaching out to hold her husband's hand in both of hers. Count Olaf squeezed her fingers and flashed her a small smile, despite the pressure of Lemony's sour mood and the resurrection of a truly unfortunate book.

"Genius quote. The man who thought of it must be undoubtedly handsome and talented and lucky."

"Oh, undoubtedly. Very handsome and very lucky. We both are."

"You're very handsome, too? And what about talented? Should I be insulted?"

"Maybe a bit." Violet teased. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lemony's hands tighten on the wheel of the car. He had turned all of the mirrors in odd directions, preventing her from studying his facial expression.

She wondered if he was lonely.

His knuckles turned white.

"I'm insulted. You've insulted me." Olaf teased in response, rubbing the joints between her fingers and listening to them pop.

He continued matter-of-factly, "Home is where the heartless is. That genius must've never imagined to find home a loving place…"

"Until now." He smiled, but his eyes were vulnerable. The burden of villainy was still prominent in them, undoubtable.

"That was sweet and husband-y." Violet smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. He grinned like a child, proud he'd done something right.

Without saying any of the things he wanted to, Lemony pulled into the long gravel driveway, through the miscreant-assembled forest, and up to the renovated home.

"Wow," Violet gasped, awed. "It's amazing."

And, truly, it was.

The front door was the first thing she saw. The wood of it was stained a grainy red, the brass faded handles of it were enormous. One long window curled around the entire frame from one side of the door to the other, creating one large arch of skylights.

She didn't pay attention to Count Olaf leading her out of the car or Lemony's annoyed slam of the door. She was too busy staring up at the Count's home. There were three tall towers built off from the main buildings, all of them with very pointy roofs. The tiles coating them like fresh scales were asymmetric and dark and gritty. As a whole, the home seemed enormous.

Lemony avoided the front entirely bypassing it to check out the back like Olaf had at Prospero Place. Unlike the author, Violet was itching to get inside.

"Do you like it?" Count Olaf asked, coming up behid her to wrap an arm around her waist.

"Yes!" Violet chirped. "Definitely."

"So…" The man looked suddenly skittish, afraid to step towards the home until he said what he needed to. The eldest Baudelaire waited, fiddling with her hair ribbon of the lace hem of the dress he bought her.

"So…" Olaf said again. "Will you stay with me? Please?"

That question jolted Violet from brushing her russet hair across her cheek. She stared up at him, her wide calculative eyes shocked and open. He met hers and the small wrinkles around them deepened.

He was giving her a choice, ripping away the shackles he'd snapped on her ankles and tossing them away, unworthy.

Count Olaf was readily presenting Violet her freedom. She could find Klaus and Sunny and apologize for adoring the man that had sent them away. She could divorce this man in front of her and gain her fortune after two more years. Lemony would make sure they were safe and preferably well-dormed.

"You mean…you're freeing me? The captive Countess?"

Olaf's face became ruddy, random splotches of red appearing atop his pained countenance. He looked like a young boy experiencing true grief for the first time. She saw his fists clench and his lips turn white.

Internally, Count Olaf was craving to shriek, "_No! Nevermind! I love you too much! **I love you**!"_

When he tried to speak nothing happened, so the former villain just nodded.

"Do…Do you want me to leave?" Violet asked, her heart sinking quickly to pool in her heels. For one dizzying moment, the eldest Baudelaire thought she was going to puke her whole body rejected the idea so disgustedly.

In some small part of her mind, she supposed it made sense. He had a fortune now, had a nice fancy home for an acting Troupe, not a wife. He had everything he'd ever wanted and a Countess had never truly been part of his plan.

But even as she thought this, another much larger part of her mind denounced it. He'd proven himself; he'd grown noble for her, renounced his past, and befriended his enemies…

**_"No!"_** That time the Count really did shriek, his voice embarrassingly high. His hands fluttered around like he wanted to touch her but was restraining himself. In that frantic moment he resembled his adoptive father.

"Of course I'll stay with you! Don't-! Don't make me question if you want me!" With that she leapt into his arms. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he held her. Both of them were gripping each other to a painful degree.

"Violet Baudelaire," Olaf's voice was rough and shaky. He never continued, just clutched her close and repeated her name as if it were almost too precious to stop repeating, too precious to fade even for a moment. "Violet Baudelaire, Violet Baudelaire."

She could feel his scruff against her cheek as she put her face into the crook of his neck. Violet's voice warbled, unlovely. "Thank you."

"For?" He squeezed her tighter.

"For…"

He grinned hugely and pulled his Countess away to look her in the face. "Are you thanking me for taking you captive?"

The realization that she was made the girl smirk. "I guess I am… That's twisted."

He leaned in close and bumped their noses together, an uncharacteristically intimate act.

"Then you're welcome, twisted Countess."

Violet kissed him once on each cheek and then declared, "I want to see our heartless home!"

But Count Olaf didn't put her down like she expected. Instead, he unwrapped her legs from around his waist and flipped her bridal style into his arms, exactly like he had during his first declared intention to woo her.

"You-! You're-! Come on! Isn't this a bit…" Violet's face was a delightful rose color as her husband carried her up the smooth cement front steps and through the towering red doors.

"You can't be embarrassed now!" Count Olaf grinned, spinning once before setting her back onto her feet inside.

Glaring at the new home, she blushed even more and lied, "I'm not…"

"Wait, come here. I think there's something you should see." Count Olaf threaded a set of fingers through hers and led her throughout the front entrance that looked very much the same. The color scheme was cozier, but the large, curling staircase was still built exactly as it had been. This copy though was exceptionally cleaner, a fact that made Violet wonder how long it would last.

Olaf led her to the kitchen which was composed of black tiled floors and a white punched tin ceiling. The cabinets were dark wood and the countertops were identical to the floor. One large window met the countertop in front of the sink as if to watch for hawks or crows or green smoke.

What met her was a beautiful sight.

Lemony was standing next to a tall wooden table, a white tablecloth thrown over it. There was a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling, directly above a coconut cream cake.

"Happy birthday, Violet!" He said warmly, earlier guilt and regret and anger slipped away to save for later.

"Thank you," she responded automatically, taking her seat as the author pulled it out for her. With Lemony on one side and Count Olaf on the other, the three celebrated joyously. They were all happy to be together and pleasantly distracted, eager for their new lives to begin with each other as crutches in an evil and terrible world.

"How did you know? When did you bake a cake? I didn't expect any of this." She smiled later on, eating her last bite of her second piece of cake.

Lemony and Olaf grinned simultaneously. They passed a look at the other before tacitly agreeing.

"I've known your birthday since the day you were born, or at least a month afterwards. And the cake…"

Count Olaf spoke then. "It's a secret!"

Unknown to Violet, Count Olaf clicked a button on a tiny remote inside his left pocket. He could hear the distant whir as the small machine awakened, energized and ready.

"Oh, it's a secret? I'll find out someday." Violet vowed with a secretive smirk. It was only then that she became aware of the sound of small propellers and a thrumming engine. She saw Lemony smirk but then smother it as she turned to look for the noise.

A machine, built to look like a bird, was hovering around near the ceiling. The three watched, intrigued as it glided into the kitchen and began to make its way to the table.

"What is that?" Violet asked, her brain already deciphering the intricate parts it could've been made of and what it would look like taken apart.

"It's an ornithopter." Count Olaf said, his voice portraying none of his fear. "Surely you've hear of them, mighty inventor?"

Violet snorted but didn't take her eyes off the machine to glare at him. "I have. I've just never seen one that looks like a hummingbird."

The ornithopter landed on the table with a satisfying click, two metal feet tapping against the hardwood. The hearts inside both men lurched as it hopped over to Violet, fluttering into her cupped hands.

"It's beautiful. What's it made from? How are the colors so vibrant? Was there a certain type of paint? Did one of you build this? Could you teach me? How did-?"

But then Violet's questions ceased suddenly.

Because what rolled from the crooked wing of the hummingbird was one silver wedding ring.

Count Olaf said softly, "Happy birthday, dear thing."

* * *

**For anyone who may be wondering if photographs can survive fires, they can, especially if they're in picture frames. I've rummaged through a few things my Aunt had salvaged from when her house burnt down and there were quite a few. Trips to abandoned, half-burnt houses made for good research as well.**

**_"I suppose I'll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies."_ Is a line from _The Penultimate Peril_.**

**Lemony's explanation of his hatlight was yet another way for me to express my whole-hearted excitement for _Who Could That Be At This Hour?_ I'm actually writing an article about it for my next school newspaper.**

**Obviously, neither _I Will Love You As_ nor_ A Volunteer's Guide to Baticeering_ exist. But if Mr. Snicket could make a bookception, I thought it would be neat, too.**

**I love ornithopters. I think they're very interesting and complex and neat. Reading about them is just something I enjoy doing, so slipping one in here was fun.**

**I've gotten questions along the lines of, "Where are Klaus and Sunny?!" I'll get to them, I promise! This fic has just grown alarmingly longer than what I had intended.**

**Also, the megalovely Goblinesque made me a fanvid! It's absolutely awesome and can be found on YouTube. It's titled 'CarleyCavaliers Story.'**

**Let me know what you think!**


	15. Act Three, Part Three: Of Hot Homes and

**This Act is extremely fluffy. Just a warning.**

* * *

Act Three, Part Three: Of Hot Homes and Heartless Ones

"I will Love you until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen," -Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

Violet wouldn't admit it if anyone asked.

With the exception of a very small handful of people, she would lie and say she had grinned and slipped the wedding ring on herself and then stood on steady legs to hug her husband. But it would be a lie and a readily-believed one at that.

Because the Violet Baudelaire that they would know- people like Loid and Sali- was the composed one, the one they had never seen so shocked and overwhelmed with pride, loyalty, and jittery elatedness.

She cried.

Violet didn't even touch the ring before tears of pride for the both of them and thankfulness welled in her wide eyes and slipped, too quickly, onto red cheeks. Embarrassed at her maudlin reaction, the girl dropped her head, smacking it against the table with a thud that jolted the ornithopter atop it and both of the men into sudden wariness.

"_Violet_-!" Count Olaf sounded half amused and half hysterical as he pulled her chair out from the table to face him. The table cloth bunched under her head as it was forced to turn as well, her body unfortunately connected to her head which was turned in a strange direction to face the man kneeling on the floor.

Lemony looked reckless. The two men had shoved the table as they stood so now the author was watching directly under the chandelier. It cast bright parallel shadows down his face from where the light peeked through the layered glass tubes that hung where crystals would be expected.

If they had told him to leave, Lemony was sure he wouldn't have. If they told him to stay, he would have left to explore the rest of the heartless home. His childish disobedience was triggered by their declarations; engendered only because of their fascinating tossing back and forth of emotions.

"Is crying a good thing?" Count Olaf asked his orphan and she giggled sharply, her voice almost wild.

The girl heaved herself up, turning to fully face the man on the floor. She had a swelling circle on her forehead from where it had slammed atop the table. Her cheeks were wet, shiny and bloodripe.

She never answered him. With gusto, Violet tackled the Count to the floor with a grin and yelled, "That's where you were this morning, wasn't it? Oh, I'm so happy! Thank you!"

Lemony grinned and said, "Maybe you should actually touch the ring, Violet, before deciding you adore it."

From where she was crouched atop her husband, she could only see the test tube chandelier and Lemony's hat, the table blocking his countenance from view.

"Yes, how about we do that first before-," But Olaf was cut short by Violet's sudden kiss.

Her lips were like velvet as they slid over his, tasting faintly of happy tears and coconut cake. The air seemed to prickle around the two, electrified and dazzling. One of the Count's arms slid around her waist and the other found its way to the back of her head, tilting, deepening.

This time Violet wasn't afraid of her lack of experience or skill. She knew Count Olaf didn't mind, he'd already admitted to finding her inexperience endearing. So the newby wife continued kissing her husband, reckless confidence surging.

Violet's arms slid up his chest, up further to wrap around his neck. She ran a hand through the back of his hair like he always did to her, fingers slipping until she could feel the knots of his spine. He smirked against her lips.

Lemony busied himself examining the test tube chandelier and tried not to feel too awkward. Eventually, unnerved by the sounds of their kissing, he said, "Although I'm hesitant to interrupt this undoubtedly intense moment of post-proposal passion, I would like to see that ring on your finger, Violet."

Their kiss didn't stop immediately, much to Lemony's chagrin, but after a few final pecks to his wife's slightly swollen mouth, Olaf released the claw-like fingers he had threaded through her dark hair. He watched as it flowed off his fingers, impeded by a few tangles which only made the girl atop him seem more human.

Violet grinned and rolled her eyes at the author, standing and helping up her husband with an outstretched hand. She muttered with an affectionate, teasing smile, "Post-proposal passion indeed."

Count Olaf was smiling so widely and so proudly that Lemony just watched him for a few moments while Violet fixed her hair and shared heated glances with her husband. Olaf's smile was charged with a brisk satisfaction and jubilation that Lemony was immediately envious of in the most harmless of ways. He may have been good at penning love letters to a dead woman, but Count Olaf had his love in his life to flatter and flip into a blushing innocent or a feline woman. In that moment Lemony's envy was immeasurable.

Before she could touch the ring, Count Olaf tugged on the red hem of Violet's dress and dragged her back so he could snatch it up first. Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, they watched as Olaf crouched to his knees and held up the ring in two tightly clenched fingers for presenting.

"Violet Baudelaire, will you accept this completely overdue but nonetheless genuine wedding ring?" He asked, voice calm. His eyes glittered as if a fortune had been mentioned.

"Because I will love you as an orphan loves a home… And as the Count loves the forgiveness of the orphan and as they both love to watch as, for once, everything goes right."

Recognizing the title of the book that VFD lovers used and how it was synonymous with his speech, both Lemony and Violet felt a bit breathless but for completely different reasons. Violet's breathlessness was due to love. Lemony's breathlessness was due to recognition.

Those were almost the exact words he had written to Beatrice long ago in response to her book of reasons as to why they could not marry.

Being offended or being flattered battled in out within the author.

"Yes." Violet said, voice far from the shaky sound she had expected. She was as headstrong and determined as ever. "Definitely."

"This is not the type of ring you can get for a quarter." Violet declared after a few moments, stunned. Olaf's eyebrow arched in ardent agreement. "Oh no. Definitely not."

It was silver to match Olaf's and fit her finger perfectly. One white diamond, oval in shape, was at the center. Tinier stones of purple and maroon matched it on both sides, two patterned lines sprouting from each side.

"Wow." That was all Violet could think to say. Despite having developed an extensive vocabulary over the years simply by being around Klaus, she could only think of that one word.

"I can't even… I wouldn't think that a ring would be something I would ever like, but…" She stared at the declaration encircling her finger and glanced from her husband to Lemony and back.

Before the fire her mother and father, would tease her saying, _"I bet you'll never have a husband, Violet, you'll be too mortified to wear anything so girly as a ring!" _Another common phrase was, _"Even if some man ever guilts you into wearing a ring, I'm sure it'll be tarnished by all of your inventing! He would have to buy a new one every month! Better marry rich, Violet!"_

Even though she knew her parents were teasing, one of them, usually her father, would always say afterwards, _"You know we were just teasing, Ed. You'll fall in love with who you fall in love with. You don't need to worry about these things just yet, though. Show me your latest invention! I want to see!"_

The sudden reminder of her mother and father had the smile slipping from Violet's pretty face. Instead of elated tears slickening her blushing cheeks, burdened ones replaced them, turned heavier and more numerous, fueled by grief and a longing for the parents she couldn't have.

They wouldn't be able to warn her about what it was like to be a wife and how amazing being a spouse could be. Her mother wouldn't be able to give her awkward daughter advice on adult things like birth control or handling children.

Her father wouldn't be able to terrorize Count Olaf or threaten to release the Medusoid Mycellin upon his home, or his adoptive-parents' home, if he ever hurt his daughter or something stereotypical like that. Bertrand wouldn't be able to threaten and Beatrice wouldn't be able to placate and ask the newlywed couple embarrassing questions. It broke Violet's swelling heart more than she expected.

"Sorry." Violet sniffed, hating herself for ruining such a perfect moment. "I didn't mean to mess this up."

Count Olaf tugged his shirt sleeve up to cover his palm and wiped the tears from his wife's face, glancing to the author who was still content to stand under the test tube chandelier. The shadows shifted atop his face as he wobbled on the balls of his feet, unsure if he should try to console the girl or let her husband handle it.

The ornithopter atop the table clicked mechanically and fluttered its technicolor wings. This time no precious jewelry tumbled from the metal feathers.

"I was just wondering what my mother and father would say to us being married." She smiled weakly and Olaf offered her a grimace in response, not wanting to admit what they both knew.

"Oh, they would hate it, surely. They grew up with your _dearest Countie_ there on opposite sides of the schism. They-… _we_- murdered his parents. That would make for a delightful gathering." Lemony said. His droll tone wasn't missed by the two.

Violet grinned despite the truth behind the authors harsh words. Count Olaf, proud that Lemony had gotten her to smile, stepped back and bowed.

"Good mornin', parents o' tha wife. Cap'n Sham at yer service." He continued with another voice, reminiscent of Stephano.

"Well, uh, I am an Italian man who is deeply, deeply infatuated with your daughter. Uhhh, you may notice that my mustache is a bit _askew_. I was bitten on the face exactly forty-six…hundred times. Most of this is, uhhh, reconstructive surgery. You see, I'm a _harpe_-! _Harpo_-! _Herpetologist_…"

He continued like that until he had Violet belly-laughing, until she was sputtering, "I can't breathe! I can't _breathe_!"

Even Lemony was chuckling saying, "This really shouldn't be funny, but-!"

Eventually, Count Olaf was still prattling on while Lemony, trembling with near hysterical hilarity, examined Violet's ring. "It's lovely," he said between snickers,- _"But I am actually Count Olaf, deviously handsome scoundrel who finds your daughter both enticing and fiendishly adorable!"_- "Lovely."

After finishing their third pieces of coconut cake each and giving Violet a full run through of what the ornithopter could do, Lemony retired to one of the guest bedrooms with a significant glace to Count Olaf.

His eager expression was replaced with total seriousness and a twinge of fear. With a nod, the Count's ambiguous response was, "Soon."

Violet was busy upstairs examining the entryway to the towers, calling, "Why is there a hole in this painting? Did you have your Troupe carry in your things? I bet this one was from Desmond."

The husband called, imagining how his words would look bounding off the walls, the picture frames, the sharp slope of the stairwell handle, "I keep forgetting he doesn't have hands."

Tapping up the stairs, he saw Violet glancing at him over her shoulder as she pointed to the painting of one very large eye, a hole prominent in the bottom corner. Her hair fell across her shoulders in dark waves, swooping over her cream colored dress. The red hem made the maroon on her new ring all the more noticeable.

"The famous Count Olaf- forgetful?" she snickered. The man rolled his eyes in response and muttered voice low but happy, "Quiet or I'll steal your fortune." They bickered about the painting for awhile, Violet poking her finger through it, the two of them laughing and teasing.

"Come here, cretin. I have a surprise." Olaf finally said, grabbing his wife's hand and leading her up the stairs and into the crooked-looking tower. She followed along eagerly. Her excitement was infectious, thickening the air and making his step lighter.

"What is it?" Violet asked. The sudden whirring of the ornithopter behind them made her turn around. She reached up and waved a hand under where it hovered and watched as the hummingbird settled into her palm. As the couple reached the tall blue door, Count Olaf released his wife's hand and grabbed her shoulders instead, commanding, "Wait. I want it to be a real surprise."

He wrapped his fingers around her eyes gently, restricting her vision evermore in the dim stairwell. The back of Violet's head bumped against his chest and hair or two caught on his shirt buttons. She had the wild urge to giggle but suppressed it.

"Step up." Count Olaf's voice was hot against her neck, calm but excited as well. "Another step- _don't trip!_ If you reach to your right you'll find the door handle. Yes… One more step…"

Violet could feel the air change. The temperature of the tower was much cooler than downstairs, like someone had opened a window and forgotten to snap it back shut. The whole place smelled of new paint and settling hardwood; the echo of someone's hard work now complete. A tang of rust lingered between the sawdust in the air.

"Take a few more steps…"

Violet smirked under his hands. He could feel her cheeks rise as her smile slipped free. "I hope you're not going to try and scare me. I'll hit you."

"Such kind words. Your husband must be used to verbal threats." Violet's head bumped against his chest again as he stopped her, something the Count felt like he could get used to. He wanted to hug her so tightly then, to touch her more than this agonizing feathering of his hands hovering over her eyes, the girl's eyelashes tickling the pads of his fingers as she blinked under them, but stopped himself. For now.

"He's not now, but he will be if he decides it would be funny to scare the cake out of me…" She muttered, her hands coming behind her to latch on to his belt loops in case he decided to bolt.

Olaf leaned in even closer and nipped her ear a few times, something that gave his wife chills, he noted in satisfaction. "Your ring looks lovely in this light, dear thing…"

"Just show me!" she snapped, rubbing away the goosebumps that had sprouted up her arms.

"Alright, alright," Olaf muttered but Violet barely heard him.

As he took his hands off her eyes, her sight was immediately drawn to a very long steel desk that wrapped around the farthest side of the room, directly in front of a very large window that was thankfully absent of an eye. Atop it were large pads of multicolored paper, coffee tins full of pens and sketching pencils placed in random places: on the floor, on the desk, on storage shelves that were far too high for her to reach.

As she wandered over to the steel table and ran her fingers over it, Violet noticed long wooden crates underneath it, already tarnished by weather and use.

"Pull them out," Count Olaf called from the center of the room where he was watching with acute interest, a lazy grin atop his face. "See what wonders they behold and all that ominous stuff."

Obeying, she tugged one of many free only to find it full of batteries and wires, nails and screws, a hammer, and a crowbar tossed in for good measure. A similar neighboring crate held spare theatre curtain and light bulbs of all different color, some as big as her head and others tiny as her fingernails which were very.

A bookshelf was on the far right wall covered in more pads of paper. She spied a telescope folded up on one of the lower shelves and woodcutters on a very top one.

"There's a stepladder in the closet if you're concerned." Olaf said, wondering why his wife had grown silent.

"You… you made me an inventing room?" Her hands were slowing, snapping a tape-measurer back and forth until he looked at her. His eyes were so very black and so very shiny. Olaf only grinned simply and stated, "Yep. I thought you might like one."

Violet hugged her husband and balled her fists in the loose fabric of his shirt.

"Thank you." She muttered, the vowels in her speech muffled by their hug. "Before the fire,-" she felt her husband's posture tense, "My Dad always called me Ed. Y'know like after Thomas Edison the inventor? He always said that if I ever got a home to myself I'd have to have an inventing room even if it doubled as my bedroom."

Olaf chuckled warmly at that, dropping a kiss on his wife's head. He could imagine that gap-toothed young thing fiddling with wires while Bertrand encouraged his daughter, watching her thrive as an inventor, and become proud of her in a way that only fathers could.

"I bet he was very proud of you." Count Olaf said softly, crouching a bit until he was face to face with his wife. He had noticed over the months that she had grown taller. He didn't have to do as much stooping as before.

"I bet he was, too." Violet agreed, grinning. She leaned on her tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth, which he leaned in happily to meet.

"That damn author ruining our post-proposal passion…" Olaf grinned, tightening his grip on her waist until she giggled.

"It _was_ a pretty perfect kiss." Violet admitted, smirking up at her husband. She stood on her tiptoes again and twirled the buttons of his shirt between her fingers. "And do we have a bedroom?"

"Actually we do, you newly-wedded wife. But don't you think we should continue our tour and save the best for last? I still haven't shown you the new theatre, it's very,-!"

But Count Olaf never finished his sentence.

Because Lemony Snicket burst into Violet's inventing room with a red face and sputtery lungs; he'd obviously dashed up all of those stairs.

"Loid and Sali… on their way. Saw it from the theatre tower…! If we're leaving… Now!" The man clutched his heart and leaned against the doorframe. They heard him mutter, "Too many stairs…"

Olaf groaned, looking almost as angry as before when Loid had used the wasabi and the horseradish in a dinner none of them liked.

"Wait, why is that bad? I want to see Loid and Sali." Violet frowned in confusion, her mind whirring into action and coming up with infinitesimal scenarios, most of them unpleasant.

"We can't see Loid and Sali now, because we have to be at the last safe place tomorrow and if they're going to serve on my trial, I can't see them within twenty-four hours of it because they basically raised me so they're too biased and that changes over a period of twenty-four hours…?" Count Olaf was busy rushing around grabbing random things off of the shelves of her new sanctuary. The telescope was snatched up first, then a flashlight, and then Violet's hand as he led her away from her newest gift and into uncertainty.

"Wait, what is the last safe place? Where is it? How are we getting there?" Her questions went ignored as Count Olaf led her downstairs, outside, and into the car, calling, "Lemony, will you get blankets? And cranberry juice? We may need that."

"I got batteries, too." The author was already on his way to the car, his hat lopsided and about to fall. Olaf grabbed it as it toppled from his shoulder and placed it back onto the man's head with a pat.

"Okay, now that should go in the trunk along with the books and the sugar bowl…" Lemony put the blankets, batteries, and cranberry juice into the trunk as Violet buckled into the back, her questions mounting and ceaseless.

"Where are we going that requires cranberry juice? Since when did you have a hearing? Why haven't you told me? What is the last safe place?"

Lemony turned in his seat and stared at her as Olaf gunned the car and drove away from their heartless home. The night was a gloomy one, an all-consuming darkness that filled the hollow spaces where light shone and dimmed them into foggy blurs. Streetlamps turned into foreign figures, glowing. Other homes were either dimmed completely or one giant mass of hazy light.

"And why are we taking the long way to their house? Why through neighborhoods and alleyways?"

"We need to beat them there." Lemony said simply, as if Violet was a child that could only handle a certain set amount of syllables. "Because what we're taking to get to the last safe place is in Loid and Sali's attic. They can't know what we're doing yet because VFD has to contact them the day of the trial or else they can't participate. It has to be as surreptitious a surprise as any."

Violet was trying to follow along, but with Olaf gunning the car and Lemony speaking to her like she was an invalid, she didn't understand most of it.

She winced and glared at everything and nothing as the car lurched and she bumped her head against the window. The author just blinked at her. "Well, alright, but… What are we taking there?"

* * *

Surprisingly, it only took about a half an hour for the self-sustaining hot air mobile home to inflate.

They had climbed into the attic frantically, trying to beat the couple whose home they were invading. The first thing Lemony did was find a lever on the far wall, covered in dust and cobwebs, and yanked until something snapped into life. The roof over their heads started to part in half, bits of old shingle sprinkling down as it happened. The foggy night was again revealed.

The first thing Count Olaf did was climb within a tall box with many balloons bigger than the entire attic folded next to it. The whir of a motor clanged into action, and almost immediately, the balloons began to bloat.

"This is a self-sustaining hot air mobile home." Olaf explained through a shout, opening the door for his wife so she could step inside while Lemony walked in carrying two books, the sugar bowl, blankets, cranberry juice, and batteries.

Violet grabbed the sugar bowl and the cranberry juice while Lemony glanced around the place and muttered, "This model was always foreign to me…"

But upon the entrance of Count Olaf, what Violet had thought were solid walls folded away to reveal a tiny kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. The colors were bland and the space wasn't much more than the three of them standing side-by-side could fit, but it was a self-sustaining hot air mobile home and it was exceeding expectation.

"Violet, could go to those two corners? You'll find two latches that I want you to unhook." Olaf said, his brow furrowed in concentration as he waited for her to step over Lemony, who was crouched in front of the refrigerator attempting to cram the cranberry juice inside it, and get in to position. With the latches unhooked in all of the four corners, the ceiling crumbled.

It folded in on itself until there was no ceiling and they were standing directly under six gargantuan hot air balloons. Each one was the darkest of blacks, and they were all swollen to perfection. Only when Lemony leapt out of the box and flipped down the very same lever as before, did Violet realize that they were already a good distance above the ground. The home was straining against a set of ropes pegged into the attic floor.

Violet tossed him a ladder Olaf handed her as Lemony kicked away his unknotted ropes. The sides of the ceiling were getting too close and there were car headlights approaching from the front half of the building.

"Oh goodness! Look at our roof, Sali, look at our roof!" Loid's voice carried from the driveway as they picked up speed, the bottom rung of the ladder only barely being missed as it became whole again, sealed together as seamlessly as before.

"We made it!" Lemony grinned as he crawled into the home, dragging up the ladder behind him and shutting the small door.

"We did." Violet grinned, helping the man stand on adrenaline-spiked legs. "Want to see the view?"

Count Olaf was already standing atop the small stove, peering over the side and down at the city below as they sped off into the starry sky.

"Actually, I'd love to. After my legs stop shaking and my stomach calms. Go visit your husband." Lemony waited for Violet to step atop the stovetop before exiting to one of the bedrooms, the three of them full of warring emotions.

Wrapping an arm around his new wife's shoulders, Olaf whispered quietly, nose pressed into her hair, eyes closed as he relished the cool wind brushing over his face, "How do you feel?"

Violet sighed, glancing from the glittering town below half obscured by fog to her new wedding ring which glittered more prominently. "Like a crow flying through a pitch black night."

He smiled but she couldn't tell if it was morbid or amused.

"And how are you, husband?" Violet asked just as quietly. She knew that if she spoke any louder, the serenity and total openness of the moment would shatter into something permanently broken and irreplaceable.

"I'm terrified. I'm so terrified I can't _think_. I…I just…" He laughed dryly and tightened his hold on her. Violet gazed out at the patchy city and wondered how many of those people were so terrified they couldn't _think_.

The thought made her feel very old and very, very, very fragile. As if the gentle wind would shatter her into something likewise permanently broken and irreplaceable.

"I know. I can't imagine why you're terrified because I've never had any experience with VFD, but I'll stay with you. I'll stay as long as I can. I'll leave only when you ask me to, and even then I probably won't." Olaf smiled and his laughter sounded more genuine.

Eventually, he sighed shakily and said, "I love you, Violet Baudelaire."

Violet's heart spiked so wildly, for a second she thought she would pass out. He had never said that before, never declared _love_.

They would always tiptoe around the word_, I adore you, I care about you so much, adore you so much I can barely breathe…_

"I love you, too." She stated, turning around to look him in the face. "Really. I know I just turned sixteen and I know we've had bad history _but I don't care about that_ and I just… I just want to get through this so people won't doubt us. So that I can actually learn about VFD and my parents and what they did- who they _were_- without any problems. So then we can go back home and be properly together."

He nodded, the wind pushing his hair back and the stars flashing a glint in his black eyes. Her stomach quivered just looking at him, her heart throbbed, and her throat swelled.

"Good. Because I want that, too. I want to love you like I should- _nobly_. I want to have a romance that rivals all the lovers of VFD. I want to make them jealous. I want to let you know how much you matter to me and I want to learn how to show you…"

Violet wanted to explain to him her heart, how he shattered it so sweetly she bled with it, portraying it in tiny reflections and deep cuts. She wanted to hold up to his face her desperate, unwavering loyalty.

They already made the best of martyrs and they would make the best of lovers. Violet was sure of it.

"After this. We'll make them jealous. We'll fill up that whole book, just us."

He grinned, earlier terror slipped away to save for later, whereas the author below was just unfolding his repressed emotions. "That sounds like a plan."

With the stars an honorable audience, the city below them also full of warring emotions, and veins so full of heat they could scorch, they kissed.

And the last safe place crept closer.

And the world was quiet.

* * *

**I told you this Act would be fluffy. I was in the mood for some fluff and this is what happened.**

**I had the conversation about Desmond destroying heartless household items planned since day one of writing this. It was neat to finally use it.**

**Today I obtained my copy of _Who Could That Be At This Hour?_ and it is amazing. I'm blown away. Buy it immediately.**

**Necessities withing the self-sustaining hot air mobile home include cranberry juice and batteries because those were two things it was lacking in The Vile Village. **

**Let me know what you think!**


	16. Act Three, Part Four: From Slim to Zero

Act Three, Part Four: From Slim to Zero

"I will Love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero," –Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

"So that's the Hotel Denouement."

Their ride had been a quiet one so far. The three were subdued in their mutual anxiety, silencing each other by not speaking and tacitly trading emotions. When one had calmed down enough to breathe correctly, or think rationally, or perhaps drink some cranberry juice they would suddenly become anxiety-spiked again, trembling, whilst one of the other two poured a cup of juice.

"Quite a sight, yes?" Lemony asked Violet, who nodded twice. The wind was gentle over their cheeks as they soared above the city and closer to the imposing hotel.

Count Olaf had his back to the two as he sat on the floor of the self-sustaining mobile hot air balloon home with one foot in the refrigerator and a half-empty bottle of cranberry juice in his hands.

"_What are you doing? Must you insist on contaminating the refrigerator?"_ Lemony had commented when Olaf had first slipped his bare foot into the cold box. _"Well,"_ Olaf had responded without looking at either of them, _"I have cold feet. I don't want to go to this hotel. I don't want to have a trial. I figure that I can numb my cold feet by making them even colder."_

"_But why just one then?"_ Violet had asked.

Count Olaf had shrugged, pushed around the bottle of full cranberry juice, and never responded.

Violet Baudelaire took a longer look at the Hotel Denouement and wondered what anxiety would look like personified.

"Are the letters backwards?" She asked incredulously, squinting as her vision swam.

"Surprisingly, yes. If you look close enough, you can see that there is a small lake directly in front of the hotel. The building itself is leaning so severely so that one could easily read the letters correctly that are reflected upon the lake's surface." Seeing the building again brought up memories that Lemony could remember too cleanly and too audibly. He could almost hear those tearful promises rising from filth and ash saying, _"We'll meet here. Promise me we'll meet here?"_

"And I assume that the entire hotel is covered in moss and lilies to blend in with the lake." Without answering Violet's half-question, the man turned away from the approaching building and glanced over the husband on the floor.

"Get up, you noble villain. It's my turn to lull myself into pleasant and opiate-free numbness. Go explain things to your young, melancholy bride."

Count Olaf snickered and dropped his head back to peer at the writer and the wife upside down. "Fine, but you can't stay numb for long and this barely works. We'll be there in less than an hour."

Lemony just shrugged and waited for Olaf to stand before taking his place, even sticking one foot in the tiny refrigerator.

"What do you need to know darling, fabulous, wondrous, pushy, annoying, inventive, melancholy, wife?" Count Olaf asked, coming to stand next to Violet and snaking an arm around her waist.

"So you're going on trial tomorrow. What can I expect?" Violet twirled the wedding ring around her finger, watching the sunlight catch and snag against the purple and red gems. Olaf sighed and glanced down at her, studying the girl as she twirled her ring affectionately.

"I'm not sure. I've never done this before. Never been to a trial, much less put on one. I'm guessing I'll hate it just like I hate telling the truth and bad acting and guilt and marmosets. You have to know that there will be normal miscreants at the hotel, too. Not everyone is a volunteer or a villain." Count Olaf said, grabbing a lock of her hair and rolling it between his fingers.

"Yes," Lemony agreed. He had taken to lying face-down on the floor with one foot still inside the refrigerator. It was a very strange sight. "Not everyone is who they appear to be. Some could be volunteers pretending to be villains or villains pretending to be volunteers pretending to be miscreants. Or even they could be no one at all and you're left speaking to phantoms, or they could just be a very good actor with a very messy role."

Olaf grinned wickedly at that although the author had no way of knowing for his eyes were closed in self-defeat. "Yes, because actors must be good liars. Remember that, Countess? Huh? Remember?"

Violet smiled at the memory the phrase provoked despite the fear making her head twinge and the soles of her feet yearn for solid ground. "Yeah, I remember."

"Do you remember your volunteer codes?" Lemony asked with a muffled voice.

"Yes, I remember those, too." She smiled but it was faded in comparison to the last.

As the self-sustaining mobile hot air balloon home began to drift down near the hotel, following the coordinates that had been programmed into it, Lemony shut the fridge without an extremity within it, and Count Olaf took Violet's hand.

They landed with a thud that sent everyone wobbling, gripping random things to steady themselves. Lemony was left clutching the juice bottle.

"You two head inside." said the author on the floor. "I'll need to carry in all of our luggage and I'm not walking through the lobby with important objects such as the sugar bowl and a long history of VFD's lovers. I assume you two will attract enough attention on your own. I'll meet up with you when I can."

As Lemony stood, he looked both of them in the eyes with a wry twist to his mouth. He told them contritely, "Good luck. I wish you all the best."

Despite his kind words, the way he said them sent a jolt of anger through Violet as the couple stepped out of the self-sustaining hot air balloon mobile home and onto solid ground.

She turned to glare at him slightly, ribbon fluttering from salt-tinged wind, and told him, "Don't say that as if we won't meet ever again. We'll see you in a few hours at most."

But even as she said them, Violet doubted her words by the look on his face.

Lemony wouldn't look at her when he said, "Indeed. We shall see."

Count Olaf was silent, clutching his wife's hand and trying not to look as vulnerable as he felt which was very. It seemed all of the words he had ever wanted to say to Lemony Snicket were finally presenting themselves but not in the way he wanted, not in a way that was anything but humble.

After several moments of irrational wariness and godawful internal debating, Count Olaf finally thrust his hand towards Lemony, open palmed and waiting. The former villain blurted sharply, his vowels too round and his consonants too quickly passed, "I respect you."

It took a few moments for the author to overcome his shock but when he did, the affection was a feeling easily reciprocated. Their handshake was firm and friendly and thankful.

"I suppose you have come to earn my respect, you most notable and talented actor." Lemony teased, trying to keep the mood light. "I shall see you shortly or perhaps not so shortly, for time is usually never in agreement with the plans I attempt to make. Take care of yourself and, more importantly, of Violet. Don't leave her alone in there."

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem." Violet smiled, the corners of her mouth twirled in a smirk as she eyed her husband and glanced up to the author.

Lemony scowled blandly, "Violet, you only _just_ turned sixteen!"

She laughed, anxiety draining, and Olaf only grinned and shook his head as if to ask, _"What am I going to do with this wife of mine?"_

Suddenly, once Lemony had made another warning about her age, Violet sighed and turned to stare at the imposing hotel, which leaned away as if shirking her accusing glare. She tugged on Olaf's hand and asked, "Are you ready, handsome husband?"

"Readier than a pig eating bacon, Countess." He stated and, with one last nod to Lemony- who turned to busy himself with deflating the large black balloons- the two began their trek around the lake and to the huge glossy front doors.

"Wait-!" Violet suddenly yanked on her husband's arm, pulling him away from the doors and anyone inside it.

"What? What is it?" Olaf asked urgently, scanning the place for any potential threats.

"Nothing." Violet said, untangling their hands to place one on his cheek and the other on his hip. "Just kiss me."

"Gladly." Olaf growled immediately, leaning down to steal that wise smirk from her lips.

They kissed for what seemed to be a record amount of time to Violet's fuzzy brain. Her hands had threaded through his hair, brought his face closer to hers, had gripped his shoulders and tickled the shell of his ear with feathersoft fingertips. After she had done that the first time, he shuddered and gooseflesh spouted up his arms, something that made Violet smug and proud and an internal braggart.

Olaf had been busy running his hands down her sides, feeling the silk of her dress slide with her curves, and thinking very distantly, _'Glad I bought the silk…'_ when the huge doors flew open and all their fears became personified in the form of a very pregnant woman and a horde of authorities.

"And you're sure that's him? The one that's to be put on trial tomorrow?" asked a policeman with very shiny, very dark sunglasses and a bright purple shirt. The group of policemen all resembled a certain disguise that VFD detectives could wear.

"Uh, yes, I'm sure now." Said the pregnant woman, obviously shocked and appalled and confused.

Violet felt Olaf's arms tighten around her as the ambiguously-sided policemen stepped closer.

"Kit," Olaf said her name not unpleasantly. When Violet glanced up, they were staring at each other as if the presence of one another had evoked some primal and visceral pain.

"Count Olaf, you'll have to follow us to the room where you're to stay until the trial tomorrow." said the man that had spoken initially.

One of his comrades scowled and muttered, "But that's not how we usually apprehend villains…"

"I don't care how it's usually done; this is how we're doing it this time with this villain!" Scowled the man as he grabbed the Count's arm and pried it off of Violet whilst the swarm of other officers shackled the Count into a pair of handcuffs behind his back.

"You didn't fight back." Violet stated in surprise, confused, as the cuffs clicked into place.

Olaf shrugged, and licked his swollen lips. "Wouldn't help anything."

"What did this guy do again?" asked one officer to another as they prodded the Count into the hotel and away from his wife, Violet struggling to keep up.

The chaos amplified when she stepped into the Hotel Denouement, with people scattered everywhere, too loud and too impersonal and too in the way.

"A better question would be what hasn't he done?" laughed the officer dragging her husband away while the Count scowled and locked eyes with his wife's fearful ones.

"I didn't know they'd take you away! You didn't tell me this!" Violet shouted over the crowd, pushing away concierges and piano players and rhetorical guests as they blockaded her view of her rapidly-vanishing husband.

"I didn't know!" Count Olaf called, his tone sounding more panicked than she was okay with.

Violet almost stumbled over a small child, who darted out in front of her as she shoved through the crowd. For half a second she could see her own distraught expression reflected upon the green wooden floor, just as lake water reflects the identity of a famous hotel.

"Hey, orphan! _Orphan!_" Count Olaf called his voice openly panicking despite the numerous people around to see him so wholly human and vulnerable.

"What?" Violet shouted, jumping atop a large couch and startling the woman sitting atop it. Only then could she see her husband being jostled around roughly by the policemen as they forced him into an elevator across the huge, crowded lobby.

"I love you!"

Hearing her husband's shout as the elevator dinged closed, Violet was stunned into silence atop the plush red couch.

And at that moment it turned exactly three-o-clock because the mammoth grandfather clock in the very center of the building chimed, _"Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!"_ three times and Violet was left standing in agreement.

The girl apologized to the lady she had freaked out and climbed off of the couch, glancing around the very crowded lobby and wondering if she should wait for Lemony to show up.

In the end, she didn't have to decide, for a very familiar voice shouted, "Violet-!" and suddenly she was being clutched by her brother.

"_Klaus_! What-? What are you-? How-?" As she grabbed her brother by the shoulders and pushed away so she could look him in the face, Violet noticed something very bittersweet.

Klaus had grown to be as tall as her.

She didn't stand high over him now, couldn't glance down and see the top of his head. That small, sad fact seemed to be the only thing she could focus on.

"You're _safe_. I'm so glad you're safe. Violet, I bet it's been terrible for you. We've felt so bad but we've been very busy and-"

"Can we go somewhere private to talk?" Violet asked over the crowd as a man with a briefcase bumped into her from the side.

"Oh. Yes." He squinted behind his glasses and scanned the sea of business suits, volunteers, and one Indian food chef.

"Kit!" He called, grabbing his sister's hand and leading her to the same very pregnant woman as before who was cleaning her glasses whilst standing near the couch Violet had leapt onto.

"Kit, this is Violet. Can I take her up to the room?" Klaus asked, releasing his sister's hand as Kit raised her head to look the girl over. Her expression became very confused, very quickly.

"_This_ is Violet? You were the one that came here with Count Olaf. You were the one he was kis-!"

"We can talk about it in private!" Violet snapped, realizing then that she would have to tell Klaus everything. Her wedding ring suddenly seemed to weigh more than before.

As Klaus lead Violet away through the mass of adults with Kit following closely behind, she saw the woman's eyes hit her ring finger. Belligerency unlike anything she had experienced before made Violet want to hold it out to the other woman so that she could get a better look. She wanted to show Kit- show _everyone_- that she made this choice herself and wasn't ashamed of it. Wasn't ashamed of _him_.

Instead, Violet met Kit's questioning look with an ambiguous one of her own.

"Where's Sunny?" Violet asked as they reached the elevator and piled in beside a group of astrologists carrying telescopes, maps, and an array of books.

"Sunny is out being a concierge. It's what has kept us so busy lately. She should be back soon." Klaus stated, looking Violet over once more. He seemed oblivious to her wedding ring, which seemed to be the only thing Kit was interested in.

"Well, you don't look as miserable as I had expected." He said, smiling wryly. Violet could see her uncertain expression distorted across his glasses.

"Well, I'm not as miserable as you'd expect." Violet stated. Kit's eyebrows flew up and Klaus only nodded, looking completive.

"That's good. You can tell me all about it, but I don't quite believe you." He smiled at her then in a way that Violet took to mean that he was telling the truth but meant no ill will.

"This is our floor," Klaus said as the doors split open and they arrived into a normal hotel hallway. The only thing that seemed abnormal were the bells set up beside each door, some clanging while others were silent, content.

Kit led them to a room a few doors left of the elevator and entered. Violet shut the door behind her, allowing her brother to enter first.

Soon, after a good amount of fussing about with tiny coffee makers and too-thin brewing bags, the three were settled at the coffee table sipping generic cups of Hotel Denouement tea. There was no sugar- something that made Violet want to grin unpleasantly, for the sugar bowl everyone was looking for held no sugar- so the tea remained as bitter as wormwood and as sharp as a two-edged sword.

"So where have you been?" Violet asked, picking at her nails and hoping she didn't appear too nervous.

"Prufrock Preparatory School. It's supposed to be a boarding school but we didn't learn much of anything. Sunny and I were forced to reside in a little shack where bales of hay served as beds, tiny crabs scurried around, and orange fungus oozed from the ceiling." Klaus muttered, looking at his tea but not sipping it.

"That's horrendous!" Violet shouted, glancing at Kit and back to Klaus.

"We made friends, though. Duncan and Isadora Quagmire. They're supposed to be here by tomorrow for the trial."

He looked up to meet his sister's eyes and then nodded at Kit who had been sitting silently, observing. "Kit became a teacher at Prufrock Prep and taught the four of us all about VFD. She taught us about the schism, and the codes, and the history. Do you know about any of that?"

Violet nodded, unsure of what to say or how much was too much to reveal. The quiet that followed was desperate.

"Count Olaf taught me. Count Olaf and Lemony." She stated, startled when Kit flinched.

"Lemony? Lemony Snicket?" the severely-pregnant woman asked, causing both Violet and Klaus to wonder how many other people in the world were named Lemony.

"Perhaps." Violet answered, noticing only then that neither Count Olaf nor Lemony had taught her how to keep a secret under interrogation, especially if she didn't know if the secret was helpful or useless or destructive.

"He's my brother. I haven't seen him in ages." Kit Snicket stated, her hands roaming over her swollen stomach. "How is he?"

"He's been… relatively safe and well-dormed." Violet grinned, watching as Kit grinned too, her face pregnancy-round and her cheeks pink. She said fondly, "Yeah, that sounds like something he'd say."

Klaus, through polishing his glasses that seemed a bit worse for wear than before, asked, "And where have you been, Violet? _How_ have you been?"

'_Here it comes…'_ Violet thought, steeling herself and running her fingers over her wedding ring.

"I've been… well. Olaf and I had been staying at his adoptive parents' house for a few months while ours was being renovated. Loid and Sali were very eccentric. I like them." Violet smiled, surprised by how speaking of her in-laws made her mood better.

"Loid is an inventor and a very good one. I helped him work on a skylight in their home, and Sali is, apparently, very good at cooking French food and playing the accordion. They were both pretty nice to me."

Klaus scowled, looking confused as if he was wondering when she was going to start telling him how horrible it was being married to the Count and what terrible chores she suffered. Kit was just watching her now, wide-eyed and ready to listen.

"What else?" Klaus asked, sitting up straighter than before, preparing to hear the worst.

Violet stood on strong legs to refill her empty tea cup. The thought that Klaus would be disgusted by her, come to loathe her, crossed the girl's minds then but she knew that this was something she would have to tell him now. Anyplace else, anyplace less private and intimate, and he would be much more offended, much more hurt and shocked and betrayed.

"There was a bet, and there were some root beer floats, and there were some misunderstandings, and burned artwork in the backyard. After that, during our time at Loid and Sali's, we met up with Lemony," She smiled at Kit who grinned back a bit sadly. "who was invited to our musical _The Rebellious Reunion_. During the musical, his workplace at The Rhetorical Building was burned down so he came to live with us at Loid and Sali's… and only just recently, we moved back into our newly-renovated -," Violet had to stop herself from saying _heartless home_. "home."

She left out most of the details that she wasn't comfortable with them knowing just yet. Like what the bet had involved, her meetings with Lemony, what the skylight was actually used for, and what The Rebellious Reunion had come to mean to the both of them. And, of course, the fact that there was a _them_.

"_Our_ home. You keep saying _ours_. Like… Like you took the marriage seriously." Klaus smiled hesitantly at his sister, half afraid that she was going to reprimand him for calling her out. Violet just grimaced and looked at Kit a bit hopelessly.

"That's because I did." Violet stated, holding out her left hand for Klaus to take and examine the ring. He didn't touch her. "I do. I take it seriously now, Klaus. Count Olaf has been very kind and very charming and very, very noble."

"Noble!" Klaus guffawed, his face a pasty color. He kept glancing at the ring as if he was afraid it might hurt him. "And Vice Principal Nero can play the violin!"

"Klaus," Kit scowled at her brother sternly, "Respect your sister."

"But-! But Count Olaf was the one that tore us apart! He murdered Uncle Monty and Aunt Josephine! And he was most likely involved in the murder of our parents! How could you, Violet?"

Even as his sister, Violet had never seen Klaus look so confused and betrayed. He was pacing, standing up to grab one of many books from a pile, flip through the pages, set it down and pick up one more, as if searching for answers they couldn't give him.

Violet could imagine that, at a point like this, faced with the destruction of a relationship with her brother, Loid would mutter his infamous, _"Well, I don't want to argue…"_ But Violet wasn't _weak_ like Loid, wasn't cripplingly codependent and scared.

She stared Klaus down and tried to ignore her inflamed temper.

"Count Olaf did _not_ murder our parents, Klaus. He's done so much to redeem himself over the past year that you wouldn't even believe! He risked his life to save Lemony's! He's comforted _me_ when _he_ was the one that needed comfort! He's helped me, and taken care of me! And you know why he agreed to come here?"

Violet was suddenly too angry to care that she might have been scaring him, or overreacting just the slightest. She needed to make Klaus understand how Olaf had changed and that she wasn't insane for adoring him.

"He didn't _want_ to be here. He didn't want to arrive and have every crime he's ever committed thrown in his face, but he came here for _me_. Because he wants us to be able to live normally and not be harassed by volunteers, or villains, or volunteers pretending to be villains, or villains pretending to be volunteers pretending to be miscreants!"

Klaus had returned to sitting on the couch now, staring up at his sister while she clutched her tea cup too tightly with red cheeks and a ferocious heartbeat.

"He's terrified of this place. Terrified that he'll never see me again after this; that the judges won't listen and they'll throw him in jail."

In her rage, Violet remembered a conversation she had with Olaf the day before her birthday. "He was afraid that_ I_ would leave _him_ once we arrived here. So just… know that this is real, and happening, and that we care about each other."

In the silence that followed, Violet felt strangely guilty for becoming so enraged, but not for what she said. When she had pictured this conversation happening, it had not involved her shouting declarations while Klaus sat and listened.

Kit Snicket was the first to speak. "As long as you're both genuine and Olaf is certain of his changing sides of the schism, I see no problem with it."

Klaus, instead of answering, stood and exited the hotel room, off to someplace quiet to reflect. He didn't look at his sister as he exited.

Violet was left standing in a foreign hotel room with a woman who had identified her husband for jailing, then given them her blessing, without Olaf who was trapped somewhere in the hotel, and clueless at to where her author-friend was or if he was ever returning. Her brother, after almost a year of absence, had walked out on her.

"Let me see your ring." Kit Snicket said quietly with a small smile as she stepped towards the young bride and clutched her hand.

"It's very beautiful." The woman smiled, turning it so the middle diamond reflected shapes upon the wallpaper.

"Thank you," Violet muttered, gazing at the ring on her finger, but feeling slightly hopeless and run-down.

Suddenly, Kit smiled and reached onto a small table to grab a pad of paper and a pen. "Here," she said, handing them to Violet. "I assume your husband has been detained in Room 165. I bet you could write to him if you're sneaky enough."

That lightened Violet's mood considerably. She missed her husband terribly, especially after being in such an unfamiliar place for so long with so many ambiguously-sided people and an overall feeling of doom she couldn't avoid.

"Thank you very much. I'll go find his room." Violet said, standing. She grabbed a few more pads of paper and another pen, intent on making this work.

Kit smiled and adjusted her glassed. "You're welcome. Good luck, Violet. I'll be here if you want to come back when you're done. I hear there's a questionable Indian restaurant we could visit if you're up for it."

Violet nodded and sighed, feeling her heartbeat flutter as she opened the hotel door. "Alright. Hopefully I'll get to see Sunny before the trial."

Although, once she said that, Violet suddenly wondered if she would be grateful to see her sister. To have the chance to explain, to convince, before the trial or if having Sunny catch on _during_ the trial was best. She couldn't decide on a plan of action that seemed easy, paramount, or respectful.

Without giving Kit much time to respond, Violet shut the door and wandered off to the elevator, intent on finding her husband, who she hoped was safe and preferably well-dormed.

* * *

When a metallic chirp interrupted the silence of Count Olaf's barren room, he looked over his shoulder and snapped, "I said I don't want tea!" but it wasn't Earnest or Frank or even that legendary figure Dewey.

Instead of the clicks of the keys that kept him locked inside the completely empty, gray, closet-sized room, the noise came from a small piece of machinery that he was very happy to see.

The hummingbird ornithopter fluttered over to Olaf, settled atop his bent knee, and unfurled both tiny wings. A pen and a folded up note slipped down the man's leg and onto the concrete floor.

"Oh, how ominous…" The Count muttered to himself as he unfolded the note and smiled, his grin faded out in the dim room. "Looks like the captive Countess misses her husband, hmm?"

As he scanned over the very first initial, dark eyes shining, Olaf snickered, "Says the man talking to himself."

"_Dearest, O_… Dearest. She must really like me_. After your capture K found me, without S, and I met KS. It didn't go as well as I had hoped. You better be safe or I'll invent a way to your room and spring you free. No sign of L. Write back quickly."_

Count Olaf squinted at the next few words and, although he would never, ever admit it to anyone (excluding that damnably adored wife of his) he blushed. For Violet had scribbled very largely and very boldly, _I Love You, Too!_ before signing her first initial and sketching in a small heart.

"Sickly sweet. How emotionally bold of you, Violet. I suppose I'm the one to blame for your sudden… openness. Loving me made you more confident, maybe? More emotional. More human. _I complete you!_ Oh, how sweet. We should be a movie. Or a play. A _musical_! Written and directed by the genius Al Funcoot!"

The ornithopter chirped and shuffled its wings atop Olaf's kneecap, causing the actor to scowl and mumble, "Alright, alright…" before crawling onto his knees to put the paper flat against the wall. He flipped over Violet's note and scribbled out his reply, trying not to notice how his hands shook.

"_Orphan, your signature was especially horrendous in its lovey-doveyness. I think I'll keep it forever. Send it back with the ornithopter once you read it. Did you know I still have that photograph of your toothless young self? I slipped it in my pocket on our drive to Loid and Sali's for the journey here. I expect K freaked out. Or cried. I'm not sure what his reaction would be, but I know he would not be thrilled to learn that his sister was married to a villainous fiend."_

Count Olaf only got that far before becoming unsure of how to proceed. How could he tell his wife just how much he missed her and how terribly, unfathomably petrified he was? How could he relay to Violet just how much he loved her?

"_I am safe, you concerned Countess, but well-dormed not so much. This place is about the size of a closet with concrete everything and very cold. I bet L will turn up soon."_

As he read over the note, though, Olaf crossed out _bet_ and replaced it with _hope_.

"_Now, read this very carefully, V. I want you to know that if I'm condemned tomorrow that you shouldn't feel guilty in leaving me here. I know it's not ideal or fabulously convenient to be married to a convicted hedonist, arsonist, and murderer. I want you to meet up with L, or K and S, or KS even and go from there. Stay safe and stay happy. For me. I adore you so much. I adore you, V. I want you to be a successful inventor, and fall in love with a noble man, and have sixteen children if that's what you want. Even if I never ever see you after tomorrow I want you to have all the happiness this wicked world will give you."_

"Uhh… I don't know how to say this. How should I say this, bird? How do you tell someone something like this?" Count Olaf's handwriting had gotten progressively worse as he continued to write.

"_Because I am sure they will condemn me tomorrow, I want to write (because I very well can't tell you, but I would if I could) that I am very lucky to have loved you. I'm honored to be your husband."_

Olaf grinned to himself and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers as he wrote one last line and slipped the note to the metal hummingbird.

"_I think I beat you when it comes to lovey-dovey endings, but that's because you're an orphan so you can't love like normal people. Love, O."_

As the ornithopter slipped under the door, Olaf watched it leave and wondered how much longer he would have to wait in his small, dark room without another note from his wife and if the last time he would see her still in love with him was during his trial and their damning.

* * *

"Violet," Klaus said, his voice trembling just the slightest as he walked towards their booth.

The four of them- Violet, Kit, Klaus, and Sunny- had ended up going to eat at the Indian restaurant Kit had mentioned before, needing time to readjust their worldview and also their nutrition levels, preferably together.

Sunny had been delighted to see her older sister, despite her new ring and overall change in demeanor. Neither Kit nor Klaus had brought up Count Olaf, something Violet was grateful for. It was becoming increasingly difficult, though, to mention subjects to talk about that were both pleasant and appropriate dinner conversation and Violet knew that her husband was neither.

"Violet," Klaus repeated, sliding into the booth next to Kit, "You don't happen to be looking for a hummingbird ornithopter, do you?"

Trying to appear calm, the young woman continued playing with Sunny, bending the silverware into strange shapes for her to gnaw. "Why, did you find it?"

Oh, she definitely had to get better at hiding her secrets!

"Actually," Klaus shrugged his shoulders and averted his eyes, not quite looking at his sister or the ornithopter as he extracted it from his pocket. "It bumped into me. Gave me this. It was obviously meant for you."

As the middle Baudelaire orphan handed a note to his sister, he muttered, "It's from your _husband_."

Annoyed that her brother had read her note, Violet grabbed it quickly and unfolded the flimsy paper, glancing her handwriting before flipping the page and reading through her husband's.

"That stupid man," she ended up growling, donning a sad smile she couldn't hide. "Stupid, foolish man!"

Violet was ready to scribble, _"How could you think I would accept leaving you here?"_ all over the entire note just to prove a point, also because she was currently lacking more paper and had no other resource to write it atop.

"Violet, if you want to journey back to our room, you're sure to find adequate paper there. The only supplies that are given here are from the Hemlock Tearoom and Stationary Shop. You would be lucky if a pen even had ink. There's a reason we switched companies." Kit smiled secretively, as if sharing a private joke but only with herself.

"_For writing that matters, and other matters."_ Violet recited, remembering the label on one of the bottles of Ink Inc's ink.

Kit Snicket didn't say anything after that, just grinned and nodded when Violet promised to return as soon as possible, hopefully before her questionable food arrived.

But as Violet entered the room, which was dark as a crow flying through a pitch black sky, she noticed one thing. In the room, standing near the farthest window with a roll of sticky yellow birdpaper was a figure hidden in shadows, its face obscured by the darkness and distorted by the pale moon.

"Sometimes I wonder how long VFD can survive, but then I realize that there are people like myself who can be both very, very noble and very, very wicked. Please excuse me asking, because I know that she is long gone and bones in the ground, but… Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?"

* * *

**If someone didn't know their codes it would be a very confusing end to an Act. This one was very fun to write, but I'm looking forward to the next even more. **

**Thanks to the people who have politely harassed me to keep writing. It helps.**

**Let me know what you think! **


	17. Act Three, Part Five: The Tumultuous

Act Three, Part Five: The Tumultuous Trial

"I will Love you until your face is fogged by distant memory." -Lemony Snicket, _The Beatrice Letters_

* * *

Eventually, Violet repeated the phrase twice.

The very first time was too shocked to count, too squeaky and uncertain and confused. As the unfamiliar man, his frame still hidden in shadows, stared her down with his grip full of yellow birdpaper, her voice wavered.

"The question is, has she been good to me?"

He hadn't heard her. He merely turned to finish his task. Violet heard the rough sound, that sticky peeling noise as he ripped a long line of the paper and secured it to the bottom windowsill outside. When he said nothing- _did_ nothing- Violet repeated the code.

"The question is, has she been good to me?"

When he finally heard her, the man smiled tightly. The act looked strange against his skinny frame- took up too much of his face and made him seem lankier than he was, which was very.

"Violet Baudelaire," he smiled, bowing low but not overly so. "It's nice to see that you know your codes. But maybe even less so to wonder what you'll do with them."

Even when the eldest Baudelaire stepped back to flip on the lights, this man became no more familiar than before. Her suspicion grew thick, like a constant throb at the base of her spine, honest and fierce.

At that moment, it became exactly six-o-clock inside the Hotel Denouement. Both Violet and her strange new visitor were subjected to the great clock's advice, "Warning! Warning! Warning!" repeated until due.

Unsure of how to respond, Violet was silent. She couldn't very well ask,_ "Who are you, you strange man, and why do you insist on breaking into people's hotel rooms with an ambiguous comment and a grip full of birdpaper?"_

"I think it's up to me to decide how to handle my codes, Mr.…?" She cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes a bit to stare him down. He only smirked coolly in response. He knew what she was playing at and all the tricks she could present.

"Denouement. I am a manager of this hotel. One of many. I was merely here to visit my sister-in-law despite what you may have witnessed upon your entrance."

Trying to appear as if she was alright with finding a strange man in the hotel room of her friend, catching him in some kind of villainous act, and being totally alone with him, Violet grabbed the notepad she had come for and tucked it into the pocket of her dress. The ornithopter twitched as they brushed together.

"Your sister-in-law." Violet stated, unwilling to speak her name for fear that he needed a confirmation on whose room he was actually in.

"Oh, yes. Kit Snicket. Wonderful lady. I remember when she was very young and had to work on a certain fountain singularly because that brother of hers was too busy to lend a hand."

Violet had a strange moment of déjà vu as she caught a glimpse of Mr. Denouement's shady smile as he scratched at his collar and fiddled with the top button of his crisp white shirt. She wanted to blurt, "Lemony?" but there was no reason behind it, no why. It surprised her, oddly, that there were instances she had never heard about from her author-friend.

"I've heard that you've been hanging around that Snicket. Or, at least, he's been around you. Helping and such nonsense. But you, Violet, you showed up here with Count Olaf, didn't you?"

Violet's stomach dropped sickeningly for one terrifying instant. The question felt like a trap. He was too knowing, too sneaky, too underhandedly straightforward. Each syllable was a trick, each vowel a ruse with no correct solution.

"I showed up here with two people and met many more in the process," Violet said, refusing to flinch as the ornithopter twitched again, "Including a woman sitting atop a plush, red couch, a waiter at a questionable Indian restaurant, and a horde of concierges."

The grin that followed her cryptic sentence made Violet's skin crawl.

"It's funny," Mr. Denouement smirked, suggesting just the opposite, "How a man could wrangle up a few orphans, send two away, and keep one. To give her a ring and call it love."

Protest lurched in her mouth the way pleas spew from the mouths of condemned men. Violet swallowed her wild objections with the shocking realization that he wanted a reaction from her. He wanted to bait her, to watch with malicious glee as she shrieked outraged refutes so he could scribble them down and twist her words later, like the worst and laziest of journalists.

Through a tight jaw and boiling blood she managed to mutter, "Well, I don't want to argue."

This time Mr. Denouement merely nodded and bowed again, much lower than before. It seemed he no longer viewed her as the threat he had previously.

"I see. Then I'll be on my way, Ms. Baudelaire." As Mr. Denouement stood to pass her, Violet made sure to step as far away from him as possible. In a twisted imagining, Violet could see the man being careless and brushing against her with those skinny elbows, sharp enough to cut. She wondered what her own bloodstains would look like atop the carpet.

"I'll see you at the trial tomorrow. If all goes as expected," He cast a strange look. It was the kind that could have meant anything. "We'll be seeing even more of each other in the near future."

And Mr. Denouement walked away, shutting the hotel door behind him with a firm, succinct click.

The first thing Violet did after his leave was lock the door and head to the window. She ripped off the birdpaper with suspicion, knowing that whatever Mr. Denouement was up to she didn't like it.

She took the birdpaper, wadded it into a ball larger than her head, and pressed it against the wall. When she peeled her hands away, they were gummy and tacky. As Violet closed the door behind her, careful to make sure it was locked, she could feel the glue peel away to leave fingerprints on the handle.

The door shut with another succinct click.

* * *

Their reunion was a tearful one.

At least, that's what Klaus had told her.

When Violet went to search for her siblings and Kit Snicket, intent on questioning the woman on if she had a husband and did that husband perhaps have a brother, they were not where she had left them. Their booth that they had been occupying previously was now being used by a mysterious group. One of the members had just flipped their waiter onto the ground and was examining his ankle simply because he had asked if they wanted sugar in their coffee.

Instead of staying to eavesdrop, Violet wandered back to the elevator which was thankfully empty. She tried to scribble out a note to her husband, but didn't get as far as she would have liked.

All she had written was, _"How could you start to think, for even a second, that I would leave you here? It seems the great Count Olaf isn't as smart as he's said to be. I could never just leave you to rot in jail- I'd sooner-…"_

Violet had been startled by a short man as he entered the elevator, his face entirely clouded by cigar smoke. He was bordered closely by a tall man with dark hair who looked very worried. Violet hastily shoved the note into her pocket without bothering to fold it.

They didn't take any notice of her and continued their conversation, effectively ignoring the girl standing in the corner of the large elevator.

"-nothing. There's nothing we could do about it." grunted the man with the cigar who had no face because of it.

"Well, what if we tried? I mean, it wouldn't be too hard to overturn a conviction. Just you watch, with this trial tomorrow everyone is going to get emotionally involved and try to see the best of him. It's for the better. At least, that's what I'm hoping for anyway." The worry in the man's voice was obvious. Violet saw the shorter man reach out to grasp his partner's hand gently and although she couldn't see his face, the smoke mask shifted so the two were facing each other, both obviously concerned.

"Why do you think that he's no longer a notorious villain? Why do think that he's suddenly had such a change of heart, Charles?" The man with the cigar asked, his voice gruff but calm.

The elevator floors dinged past softly. They served as the Hotel Denouement's heartbeat and each tick from its mammoth clock was one more breath. As each floor passed, Violet pleaded that the next wasn't their final stop.

"Well," the man named Charles smiled softly, a bit sadly, "Isn't that what you did? Before you started the Mill?"

The man with the cigar sputtered. He couldn't seem to find words appropriate enough to respond. "Well, yes, but… That was different! Very different! Don't be an idiot!"

Charles sighed, appearing as if he had expected this response. "Of course, Sir."

And when the floor that the two exited on came, they stepped away, still holding hands. As Charles glanced behind him, he suddenly saw Violet as if for the very first time. A brief expression of panic swept across his face as the doors dinged shut, leaving Violet alone with a half-finished note, trepidation, and lungs full of secondhand smoke.

"Their reunion," Klaus muttered, as he held open the door to Kit's room for her, "was a tearful one."

Confused, Violet glanced around the room.

Kit Snicket was sitting at the coffee table, clutching a steaming mug in one hand and holding her swollen stomach with the other. Lemony Snicket, however, was under the table, shouting nonsense she could barely understand.

"So, then I went and returned to the place I had been before, which, of course, was no longer anything but sea shells, and managed to track down the owner. From there, I harassed him into rewarding me with a lifetime supply of coffee and bread, but also mail, which I don't think would be very fun to look through except for if maybe people are sending each other codes or love letters."

He had Kit laughing so hard her mug trembled and she had to set it atop a folded newspaper.

"So you harassed the owner?" she was giggling, "Into giving you a lifetime supply of coffee, just so you could bring me one?"

Lemony stood and nodded very seriously. His bowl-shaped hat was precariously askew. "For you, dearest sister."

"You are such a _liar_!" And she was laughing again, trying to sip her coffee before she collapsed into cackles, wiping away tears from behind her glasses.

"Or, perhaps there is a Black Cat Coffee Shop just around the corner from a certain fountain…" Lemony smiled mischievously, looking like a younger brother should.

Klaus smiled and nodded to the siblings. "Right after we got back, Lemony burst through the door demanding to see a woman with the initials KS. They haven't seen each other in years. He had no clue that she was married, or expecting… He cried."

"I haven't had this in ages. Tastes like nostalgia." Kit muttered, finally getting a sip of her coffee. She jumped when she noticed Violet. "Oh, Violet, -!"

Lemony's reaction to her entrance was somewhat smug. He wasn't as surprised to see her as his sister. He had expected her to skulk through the hotel with its villainous guests and emerge victoriously.

"Well, look who hasn't been killed or otherwise maimed. You survived your first day around ambiguous fiends. Tell me, Violet, did you happen to encounter any volunteers, or villains, or volunteers pretending to be villains, or villains pretending to be volunteers pretending to be miscreants?" Lemony asked, patting Kit's head as she sipped her drink.

"Plenty." Violet stated, looking to where she had earlier balled up the birdpaper and stuck it to the wall in a successful attempt at freeing her hands.

"Good, perhaps you'll be prepared for tomorrow."

"Perhaps." Violet shrugged, thinking back onto the conversation she had overheard in the elevator and wondering what her chances were of leaving the hotel with her husband at her side. The longer she thought about it, the more doubtful she became.

"Speaking of handsome, talented actors," Lemony said, which none of them had been speaking of, "Where is your husband, Countess?"

"He's been detained." Kit answered when Violet faltered. "Room 165."

Lemony nodded uninterestedly. He had expected it. "Ah, yes, that's where all the villainous fiends are usually kept when they await their trials. He won't be able to escape."

Lemony returned to teasing his sister as Violet tried to figure out what to do. The smell of coffee was sour in the small hotel room. The windows were beginning to fog. The sky was as pitch black as a crow, which was very.

Later that night when the coffee was gone, the bread was eaten, and all of the necessary words had been said, (_I'm so glad you're safe and well-dormed, _and_ You're a fiend for not contacting me sooner, _and_ Don't worry, Violet, I'm sure this will end fortunately_) Lemony and Violet retired to their own room.

"Floor eight has been reserved for rhetorical guests only." Lemony explained through a yawn as he unlocked the door and went straight to the window to rip away the birdpaper. He stuck it onto the wall exactly as Violet had.

"I went back to Loid and Sali's and managed to break into their home and collect some of your belongings. In that bag," he nodded to the bland suitcase resting atop the second bed, "You'll find everything we will need for the trial along with all of your clothes and toiletries. Now, I'm off to the library to stay up very late and read on how to testify in court."

With that, he left her alone, briefly muttering, "It's nice to see you again, Violet. I'm sorry I was such a disappointment."

After his exit, Violet went to her suitcase, startled to find what Lemony had stolen from Loid and Sali's. The lingerie Count Olaf had bought for her was bundled at the very top in a knot of black lace, as if he had thrown it in, not wanting to touch it for too long.

The sight, however humorous, only dampened her mood into a kind of stalwart sorrow.

It was only later, much later, once Lemony had slipped into the dark room for the night, changed in the bathroom and then crawled into his separate bed, did Violet wake and realize something.

She had never written back to Count Olaf.

* * *

Breakfast, as usual, was both lovely and unlovely.

Violet had slept in her dress, preferring that over the lingerie, especially considering the fact that she had slept in the same room as Lemony. She hadn't slept much at all, though, her dreams had been too bright and blurry, too panicked to tolerate.

Breakfast was lovely because it consisted of some of her favorite people, which now happened to include Kit Snicket along with Sunny, Klaus, and Lemony. They ate the remainder of their Indian food from the night before and drank coffee, again from The Black Cat Coffee Shop.

Breakfast was unlovely because it was Thursday.

Breakfast was unlovely because they had a trial to prepare for.

"Tell me, Violet," Lemony was saying as he adjusted his orange tie. "How do you think this will go? Will I end up having to kidnap both you and your husband? Because I will, you know. You'll just have to pay me back in typewriter keys and ink."

He had been like that all morning, asking her things to keep her distracted, but never pausing for her to answer.

"Well -." Violet would begin, attempting to answer even as the author interrupted her for yet another time.

"Remember when you first met me and I had to go dumpster diving with you in search of both mirrored and glass panes? Do you remember when my workplace burnt to the ground, leaving behind nothing but a skeletal framework and charred secrets? Perhaps you may have forgotten the time when you walked out on me after I taught you Sebald Code. You were so very hesitant of me."

Kit paused examining the food Sunny had made to listen in on her brother's musings with a small smile.

"You weren't always very trustworthy yourself, Mr. Snicket." Violet teased, trying to ignore the panic that coiled, slippery, in her gut. She had taken to inventing all morning and was currently putting the very last touches on a device that had no real use.

It mirrored an earlier invention of hers from a few years back. One that tossed the stones that she would skip back onto the shores of Briney Beach. This one was smaller, though. Made up of nothing more than a hairdryer, a few spoons tied together, and mattress springs. She had jammed the spoons into the mouth of the hairdryer, tied them together with rubber bands, and secured the springs behind them. Altogether, it formed a half-hearted catapult.

She slipped it into her pocket to save for later when a knock sounded against the door.

"Okay, since I've successfully hidden from the authorities on multiple occasions, I suggest everyone hide. Violet, you leap out the window," Lemony was joking as Kit stood to answer the door. "Klaus, you crawl into the ceiling tiles, and we'll have to flush the youngest."

"Okay," Kit said to another police officer, who was dressed in the same purple shirt at before. "We're ready. Violet?"

But the eldest Baudelaire was already pushing past the guard and into the empty hall. He held his arm out to block her her roughly as the rest of them filed into the hall. Lemony shoved the man's arm away as they were led to the equally deserted hallway and into the elevator.

Silence was sweltering in the air between them.

They could have heard the drop of a hatpin against a stage.

Throughout the descent, Lemony was permanently acting as a barrier between the ambiguous policeman and the others. He was a human shield, all too willing to prevent any and all cataclysmic events.

"The three of you," Said the policeman in a dull tone. He withdrew three long white blindfolds from his pocket and handed one each to Kit, Klaus, and Sunny. "Must be blindfolded for this trial. All witnesses must be blindfolded."

"And why must we wear blindfolds? An important part of testifying is being able to see the accused." Klaus stated, rolling the blindfold around in his hands instead of blinding himself.

"Everyone wears blindfolds at a High Court trial, except the judges and the accused. Haven't you heard the expression 'Justice is blind?'" sneered the man. The elevator swooped making Violet's already queasy stomach feel all the more perilous. When she glanced over her shoulder, the three blindfolds were secured tightly. Lemony was holding Kit's hand. In his other hand was her mother's suitcase. The typewriter attached was silent as the doors split open with a similar ding.

Kit, Klaus, and Sunny were led away to join a very large crowd of more blindfolded listeners.

Lemony weaved through the crowd and up to the front of the room where Count Olaf was standing, his own temporary blindfold knotted firmly in place. They were arranged at a small table, which was raised off the ground at a considerable height, like a very small stage consisting of only three chairs and a table. Before them were the judges, who were not masked. Unlike their jury, their sight was unimpeded by cloth, but similarly by prejudices.

Violet recognized only Justice Strauss, who was leaning across her podium to speak to a man who seemed uninterested. They were all dressed identically- dark judges' robes and towering powdered wigs. The clatter of the blindfolded crowd rose as the last of the blinded jurors were led from the elevator and to their seats against the side walls.

Lemony reached up and unhooked the Count's blindfold. He flinched at the contact, but grinned almost desperately when he saw them.

"Fancy seeing you here." Olaf winked across Lemony to Violet, who laughed in astonishment.

Her husband looked worn out and jittery. His hands wouldn't stop gripping the back of the chair in front of him. His shiny eyes could hardly stop darting around. His grin was a trembling lie and his teasing was a mask all its own.

"You didn't write me back." Olaf said suddenly, wincing at Violet, who blurted, "I didn't finish it!"

Justice Strauss had stood behind her tall podium and pounded her gavel, three quick strikes demanding silence and attention.

"Hey, Snicket," Olaf whispered to Lemony as the crowd quieted down. His voice wavered.

"What?" Lemony hissed, keeping a careful eye on the judges and the crowds surrounding them. He could almost feel the tension that the crowd was pressing against them. They were eager for vengeance, eager for justice. Above all, though, they were in demand of a show.

"Tell Violet I think she's hot."

Lemony snarled, "_No_! You, sir, are a despicable cad and-"

_"Pay attention!"_

Violet's demand was left echoing around the silent courtroom as every person listened attentively. Malicious hopes pressed tighter. They brushed up the backs of Violet's arms and straightened out her spine.

Justice Strauss cleared her throat.

"Attention!" She cried, banging her gavel evermore. "Attention everyone! The trial is about to begin! Please take your seats!"

The noise was almost deafening as the crowd all pushed their chairs back, attempting to clamber into them whilst incapacitated.

"How can we take our seats," a man asked, "when we can't see them?"

"Feel around with your hands." Justice Strauss said patiently as the large crowd struggled and stumbled and attempted to sit in chairs that weren't theirs.

Count Olaf was giggling hysterically as he watched the distressed jurors and guests. He finally turned, face pale, eyes wild to hiss, "I'm_ so glad_ we're here. So, so glad that this is the last time I'll see my darling, dearest wife. Remember when you hated me? Remember our first kiss? That's all gone now!" He giggled manically again.

Violet reached in front of Lemony to grasp her husband's hand. He bunched up his shoulders and clutched her hand. They both had sweaty grips. His fingers were trembling. The man that had easily committed an undecided number of crimes had been reduced to pure terror. Violet's gut dropped. She clutched his hand tighter.

"Hey!" called a policeman, who was dressed as all the others. His blindfold was securely in place, but with it tied around his sunglasses, they suspected he could see perfectly. He nodded to Count Olaf. "You're not permitted to converse. Keep them separated, Mr. Snicket."

_"Keep them separated, Mr. Snicket." _Lemony mocked, his voice a high-pitched imitation of a certain Vice Principal. Olaf giggled again. His voice cracked and died in his throat.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman," Justice Strauss called, her voice sounding right in front of the trio, "and anyone else who happens to be in attendance. It has come to the attention of the High Court that certain wicked deeds have gone unpunished, and that this wickedness is continuing at an alarming rate. In the interest of justice and nobility, we will hear what each witness or defendant has to say and determine once and for all if Count Olaf here should be held responsible for his actions."

Justice Strauss paused as a rustle rose within the crowd, murmurs of speculation hissed between teeth and whispered to blind neighbors. Count Olaf had calmed his earlier distress into a serious mask. His shiny eyes were still as alert and frantic as ever. Violet saw them dart to the doors they had come through and then up to the ceiling, like a halfhearted prayer.

"If chosen guilty by the jury, he will be turned over to the authorities, who are waiting outside, making sure no one will try to escape while the trial is in progress."

Justice Strauss peered at Count Olaf gravely, "Do you understand?"

Olaf nodded, tightening his hands around the back of his chair. Lemony nodded just the tiniest bit, checking the typewriter on the blue suitcase to make sure it didn't ding or eject ink onto his trousers, or spit its ribbon up to tangle at his heels.

"Good. Now then, will the involved parties please stand and state their names and occupations for the record?"

Violet shifted nervously where she stood. The ornithopter twitched in her pocket.

"Name?" the judge asked.

"Count Olaf." Her husband replied. His voice was calm and surprisingly unshaken. Violet wondered if he was acting, hiding behind a well-worn performer's mask. She recalled with conviction the very first thing he had taught her- "Actors must be good liars."

Another judge, the one who had been uninterested at the Justice's previous conversation, asked, "Occupation?"

"Impresario."

"And are you innocent or guilty?" asked Justice Strauss.

Here, Olaf hesitated. He started, stopped, questioned himself. The silence that followed was desperate, starving.

No feet tapped and no chair legs squeaked. The courtroom was completely silent, listening too intently for any damning evidence that slid free from Count Olaf's lips. He was finally going to state his case. Declarations of past intent and pleas for redemption and a man-made-new's alibies swelled inside his throat like peppermints causing an allergic reaction.

"I am unspeakably guilty. I have committed a collection of crimes, most of which are true, some of which are false, and an undecided number are completely undecided."

Seemingly rattled by the Count's honest answer, Justice Strauss nodded a few times and cleared her throat. Eventually she said, "You may be seated, Count Olaf. Mr. Snicket, if you would."

The screech of her husband's chair made the blindfolded crowd flinch and cover their ears. The table creaked as he sat down.

"Lemony Snicket," said the man next to her contritely. His voice bounced around the courtroom at strange angles and echoed. "Representative…"

Lemony also seemed unsure of how to answer the last question. Visions of stolen statues and a letter that arrived way too late and poison darts, sticky before use, blinded the author momentarily. Lemony glanced at his hands and saw the remnants of blood and ash there. He didn't know if he was lying when he declared, "Unspeakably innocent."

A murmur spread through the crowd like a ripple on the surface of a pond.

"You may be seated. Next." Justice Strauss said, banging her gavel.

The murmur died out.

Violet stood. Her chair squealed and the ornithopter fluttered again.

"Violet Baudelaire," she declared, voice strong and determined. She was _not_ leaving without her husband and Justice Strauss had to know that. "Inventor. Comparatively innocent."

Another ripple of shock swept through the crowd. Theories were exchanged and ripped to shreds or polished by facts the jury thought they knew. Above all, the three could hear the scratching of Justice Strauss's pen while the other jurors conversed quietly. There was already a large pile of pens at the floor before the podiums. The Hemlock Tearoom and Stationary Shop had provided the stationary for the trial and it was obviously inadequate judging by the way pens were exchanged and tossed down every few minutes.

"Alright. Now that that's over with, I would like for you to answer a question for me, Count Olaf. Why are you here today?"

Count Olaf was ready with his answer. He sounded almost relieved when he declared, "To denounce my villainy. To become noble."

"And what is the reason for that?" Asked a juror with a beard but no hair. He peered at Olaf curiously. The husband didn't flinch when he recognized the juror, but a cold knot of dread wedged itself into his stomach, increasing his anxiety.

In that moment, Count Olaf knew he wasn't going to make it out of the Hotel Denouement with his wife victoriously beside him.

"Because of my wife. I want to denounce my villainy and turn noble for her, and because of her… She deserves that, at least." When Olaf glanced over to his wife, she was beaming proudly at him. He cast her a small smile, weakened by absent hope.

"And just for the record, Count Olaf, could you please state who your wife happens to be?" asked Justice Strauss, who was glancing between the Count and Violet with an anxious expression.

Before her husband could answer, Violet stated quickly, possessively, "Violet Baudelaire."

When the Justice was done scribbling, her face was a ruddy red color. Disgust made her look older than she was.

"I will be acting as Count Olaf's representative today, Justice Strauss." Lemony declared, not waiting for a reply before setting the suitcase atop the table. It dinged sharply as he set it down, its belly heavy with evidence.

"I stand here today before the High Court with a suitcase that once belonged to the late Beatrice Baudelaire. Count Olaf, Violet, and I found it whilst exploring the wreckage of the Baudelaire mansion. Inside the suitcase, we found these." He unhooked the latches carefully and gently flipped the mouth open to reveal far more treasures than there originally had been.

Within her mother's suitcase, Violet could see the expected. The book of baticeering was still present, along with the litany of disguises, poison darts, and A Series of Unfortunate Events. Added to the pile were the ring previously owned by the Duchess of Winnipeg, the bottle of Ink Inc.'s inc, and both the containers of wasabi and horseradish.

The contents of the sugar bowl had been added to the collection of her mother's keepsakes. Absent from the collection was the note that she had written, a pack of matches, I Will Love You As, and The Snicket File.

"Within this collection of a volunteer's necessities, there appears to be this book, written by myself. It is appropriately titled A Series of Unfortunate Events, which it is. Many long-time members of a certain organization were unsure if such a book existed. To have a compilation of every crime and treacherous act they have committed was a threat to be used in case of emergency, like side-switching or dog-earing books."

Lemony flipped to the very back of the book to find Count Olaf's name in the index. When Violet peeked over his arm to examine the list, it was still as long and condemning as before. If that list could have slipped free from the pages and tangled itself into rope, it would have been a noose with her husband's name on it.

"Within the pages of this book are the supposed acts the Count has committed. Would you like to hear him list them for himself, as common in the High Court, or shall I?"

"Count Olaf can present his crimes." said the bald man with a droll tone. He was eerily close to sneering.

"How far would you like me to go back? Do you want my life story or just my crimes?" Olaf was half sarcastic with his question. He knew they only wanted what solidified his villainy, not explanations as to why he had no choice.

"Why, your crimes, of course. That's what we're all here." Justice Strauss insisted, confused as to why a backstory to a villain could help prove a point.

Count Olaf cleared his throat before standing. His chair didn't sqeak when he did.

"My first hedonistic crime was an accident. During my free time at a certain long-gone headquarters, I was practicing signals with the green smoke cigarettes. When I lit mine with the matches, now only notoriously used by villains because of this incident, I didn't check to see if they were completely out before throwing them on the ground. I was so eager to impress my fellow volunteers with my skills involving the smoke, that I didn't notice when the barn we kept our eagles in caught fire until it was too late. The only eagles that didn't burn were the ones out practicing. From then on I was labeled a villain by my classmates and disregarded as a volunteer. My second crime was setting the headquarters' library on fire after seeing a few volunteers leave after researching the effects of medusoid mycellin. They were the ones who first labeled me as a villain. They destroyed my commonplace notebooks and every book I owned. So I destroyed their books and their secrets. Soon after that, more volunteers started following my example and setting buildings on fire. We began plotting ways to get back at the _noble volunteers_ who first made us enemies. The schism formed soon after that."

Atop their pads of paper, the pens of the judges were scribbling furiously. They were tossed down, clicking atop the rest of the pile, and replaced immediately.

Lemony wasn't looking at Count Olaf for fear of seeing a hint of betrayal in his eyes. He could remember the feel of Olaf's commonplace notebook in his hands and supposed nobility thrumming hot through his veins. He remembered the feeling of rage and disgust boiling in his mouth when he saw his sister's named scrawled out on random pages.

_Kit likes Black Cat coffee, can drive a taxi, knows how to waterskii..._

The children had been too young to have real villains so they created their own.

"And after that?" Justice Strauss asked, not bothering to write down the Count's past.

"I continued to set fires, and attempt to steal fortunes, and write musicals, and kidnap orphans. I murdered theatre critics and a herpotologist and an ex lion tamer obsessed with grammar. I've pushed a fake fortune teller into a pit of lions and burned down some mansions. I'm a hedonist, an ardonist, a murderer."

"I think that's quite enough, impresario." Lemony drolled, silencing the Count before he could continue to damn himself further.

Only Violet and Olaf could tell, but the author's voice held a small undercurrent of panic. His tone was still just as calm and contrite as before, but it was hollow.

Lemony Snicket was preparing himself for the worst.

"It is true that all of these things have happened. And because of my irredemable innocence, I cannot admit to being a trigger. I can, however, attest to the fact that Count Olaf is a changed man, no longer a hedonist, an arsonist, and a murderer."

Despite the scoffs of the blind jury, Lemony continued. The judges were growing antsy, shifting behind their podiums uncertainly. Only the bald man seemed calm. His stare towards the Count, focussed and hostile, was an increasing tension that no one else could feel.

"Before Count Olaf discovered this orphan here would become the best part of his life-" Lemony began, and the man beside him almost screamed in agony and consent and agreement and frustration and the revolt at his past that none could ignore. "- he wanted her fortune. He murdered two of her guardians and sent her siblings away. He kept her for himself. Called her his plaything and introduced her to his parents back home."

Through the strain of the listening crowd, Violet thought she heard a muttered, "Oh, goodness."

"He never thought he would love her. Never considered this girl a person who could accept him and redeem him and flip him from tainted to whole. Count Olaf never thought Violet Baudelaire would be the type to love him and Violet Baudelaire never considered Count Olaf anything but an enemy. Until they had to help each other. Until they lived together and survived together and admitted secrets and passed along codes together."

Lemony sighed and glanced at the friends beside him hopelessly. If this was a funeral, he was going to give them the best eulogy he could. Seeing Violet look hopeful beside him was like a knife to the chest getting deeper with every encouraging glance to her husband or grateful smile she slipped him.

"Count Olaf has always avoided trials of any kind until now. He had hopes to arrive here, confess his sins, and be forgiven so that he could live comfortably with his wife. He didn't want the fear of his past creeping up to harm the life they would build together. He owes Violet that; he wants that for her."

Lemony was suprised when the young woman beside him stood, eyes determined but shiny and pleading. When Violet tacitly asked for recognition and a chance to speak, Justice Strauss nodded. Lemony Snicket lowered himself into his seat.

Count Olaf watched his wife stand, ready to speak, and felt his heart constrict. He wanted to tell her then, _"You're beautiful, thank you so much for loving me, for redeeming me, for staying, for helping. Captive Countess, you've entranced me from the start..."_

"If there's one thing my time with Count Olaf has taught me, it would be something that not everyone within a certain organization has fully understood. It's something even Lemony was struggling with realizing when I first met him..." Violet glanced from her husband, to the blind crowd, to the hard faces of the judges before her.

"Not everyone is either noble or evil. Every volunteer can be evil and every villain can be noble. It was something even my parents helped me realize, too."

When Count Olaf and Lemony both realized what Violet was about to say, they were each tremendously thankful that neither of them possessed any poison darts.

"Many years ago, my parents murdered Count Olaf's. Poison darts in a crowded theatre. My parents may have been murderers, but they loved my siblings and me with everything in them. They were good and loving and noble. Just because they had committed crimes didn't mean they were incapable of remourse or- or _love_."

Violet's voice never trembled, but her hands were shaking as she balled them into fists against the table. Justice Strauss didn't look surprised and neither did any of the other judges. They seemed pitying, uneager to hurt her, and weary.

"My husband is the same. He may have committed crimes, and labeled himself foul things in his guilt, but that doesn't make him any less human. He loves me. He wants to be forgiven so he can make me happy. Please don't let this be for nothing."

When she sat down, Violet saw the guilty look Justice Strauss exchanged with the juror to her left and it made her want to shriek.

"Now then," Justice Strauss said, clearing her throat. "all those in the courtroom who have evidence they would like to submit to the court, please approach the judges and do so."

The room erupted into pandemonium as suddenly almost everyone stood and stumbled past each other, trying to submit evidence.

"I submit these carnival posters!" called a man gruffly. Voices began to blend together until only the words shouted were recognizable to Violet.

"I submit this commonplace notebook!" announced a blindfolded man she recognized as either Frank or Ernest.

"I submit these photographs!"  
"I submit these magazine articles!"  
"I submit these maps!"  
"I submit these Psychology books!"  
"I submit these violin strings!"  
"I submit this cup of peppermint tea!"  
"I submit this cup of star anise tea!"  
"I submit these screenplays!"  
"I submit these marriage licenses!"  
"I submit these codebooks!"

"I submit this collection of Lewis Carroll's poetry!"

"I submit these theatrical programs!"

"I submit this half of the Snicket file!"

The last exclamation caused Lemony to flinch and glance around the crowd wildly. He was unable to detect who had exclaimed that they had broken into his hotel room, found the half of the Snicket file hidden in the ceiling tiles, and brought it to the trial. A feeling of inescapable doom made the author want to hang his head.

Justice Strauss banged her gavel as the man with a beard but no hair collected all of the evidence and piled it onto his podium. He glanced at the pile blandly, while the Justice called, "If you would just give us a moment to review all of the evidence-"

"Actually," interrupted a familiar voice on the very edge of the crowd. "Actually, I would like to speak."

Sir Loid Rolp Thammock was raising his hand and leaning forward, blind, trying to attract the attention of the judges. Violet heard Count Olaf mutter something to himself and put his head in his hands, tugging on his hair.

"Oh," Justice Strauss said in surprise, glancing from the evidence to the adoptive father on the floor. "I suppose we have one more person willing to testify. Sir, if you would please remove your blindfold and approach the table-"

"There's no need." Said the man with a beard but no hair, smiling at Loid who couldn't smile back. "We have our conviction ready. There's no need for any more speeches."

"I would like to testify for my son, please. I can help. You have to let me help! Let me fix this!" Loid shouted back, while Justice Strauss banged her gavel and turned to peer at the bald man.

"Do we already have our conviction? Judges? Do we?" Justice Strauss asked, and the other judges nodded, peering at the evidence with the same bland expression as the other.

"We do." said the man with a beard but no hair, smiling warmly at Violet. When Violet tried to stand, her legs trembled and quaked. She fell back into her chair with a hopeful, terrified laugh and pleading tears in her eyes.

"The jury of the High Court has reviewed the testimonies given and has come to a conclusion." called the man as Justice Strauss banged her gavel.

The crowd was again eerily silent. Everyone was holding their breaths in anticipation. Violet's heart was fast in her ears. The next few words that the man called seemed underwater, slow to reach her.

The man smiled at Count Olaf kindly, forgivingly, and Olaf's heart soared with unfamiliar hope.

"The conclusion of the High Court is that we have found Count Olaf unfathomably guilty for his crimes involving hedonism, arsonism, and murder. For his crimes, he will be sentenced to an equally unfathomable amount of years in prison."

The crowd errupted into either screeches of victory or horror and defeat.

Violet, suddenly cold and dizzy and confused could only ask, "What? What did he say? _What_? How- how could-?"

"The accused may have an hour to spend with his loved ones, but is forbidden to leave this hotel under any circumstance." The man with hair but no beard grinned wickedly.

Count Olaf was left standing amidst a group of sneering ex-collegues, watching his wife's face fall, and wondering why he had ever bothered to hope for the best.

* * *

**The schism is said to have happened when Kit was four years old. Obviously, I stretched the age a bit. I was picturing them in their early teens when the schism started.**

**Kit Snicket does, surprisingly, know how to waterski. I think it's in ****_The Unauthorized Autobiography_****, but we're told that Kit has been on a waterskiing vacation with Captain Widdershins.**

**In the time I've been absent, Lemony's newest book, ****_The Dark_****, has been published! I went out and bought it as soon as I could and it is perfect. The illistrations are amazing and the plot was surprisingly suspenseful at times. I recommend it.**

**Also, the title of the second book within the ****_All The Wrong Questions_**** series has been disclosed. It will bee called ****_When Did You See Her Last?_**** and is set to release on October 15th of this year.**

**Lots of dialogue (especially Justice Strauss's) was copied from ****_The Penultimate Peril_****, so it may seem somewhat familiar.**

**Sometime soon, I'm going to go back and fix the first few Acts because I can't even read them anymore without getting totally embarrassed. I won't change anything major, just touch them up a bit.**

**In other news, I have a lovely new beta, AlliHigginsLT3! I know her personally, so I'm sure she won't let me slack off ever again.**

**If anyone remembers, I had a banner and also a video made for this fic by the perfect Goblinesque, and as of a few days ago, she has made me another banner and another video. The video made me cry and the banner is amazing. I'll try to post them both on my tumblr so everyone can see them.**

**Oh, and if you want to leave me reviews that would be awesome, but you can also reach me through tumblr. That's probably easier. (My tumblr URL is the same as my penname here.)**

**Thanks for sticking through my crappy hiatus. Let me know what you think!**


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